American Standards
by Emerald-Leaves
Summary: What started out as an embarrassing situation for Russia leads him into an exciting competition involving his once greatest rival. RussiaxAmerica, a little of AmericaxEveryone. Genderbending. Rated T to be safe. Human names used.
1. Chapter 1: Cold Heart, Warm Hands

**Chapter One: Cold Heart, Warm Hands**

Russia stared at the bloody table in front of him, his face heating up with embarrassment. This was not the first time this had happened, but that didn't make it less embarrassing. Looking up, he found the other nations around him gawking in mute horror, revulsion clearly set in their features. While it was understandable that they were horrified, the Slav still thought it was rude that they should all stare like they were. It's not like he could help this!

"Good God, man!" Britain sputtered.

"That is just disgusting!" Austria scrunched up his nose disdainfully.

"I'm, like, going to be sick," Poland looked away, covering his mouth.

"…How are you still alive?" Germany inquired, looking truly confused, yet fascinated.

All around the room similar talk was being had between all of the nations standing around. As everyone kept gossiping and looking appalled, Russia took the time to glare at the offending object that didn't seem to know where it belonged. Stupid heart, always falling out of his chest at the most inconvenient times! And to make it worse, it had popped out of his chest and towards the opposite end of the table, as though it had meant to escape his chest forever.

With his pride hurting, Russia tried to push down his flush and tried to remain composed. While this was not the first time his heart had ever popped out like this, it was the first time that it did in such a large gathering. He had thought he'd be safe since he was wearing a thick business suit, but the pesky little thing had gotten through and gotten away from him.

"Please do remain calm," he spoke up. "Give me a moment to put it back into place and—"

"_Non_!" France cried. "Do not put it back in front of everyone! Take care of this somewhere else. No one wants to see it."

France was just being France of course, but for some reason, even though Russia knew he shouldn't put any real value on the western nation's words, the words stung all the same. Amethyst eyes scanned around the room, and the nation found all different shades of horror on his fellow personification's faces. They all thought he was disgusting. They all thought he was weird. They knew he didn't belong with them. He didn't belong with any of them. He wasn't really European. He wasn't really Asian. He was nothing. He was alone.

As he was about to retrieve his heart and go, Russia suddenly felt his chest constrict, and his heart seemed to be set on fire. He snapped his eyes up to find that someone had picked up his heart, despite all the blood. The hands were warm. The hands were gentle.

The large nation stared at his heart being held in slim, delicate hands tenderly. Someone was cradling his heart. Someone was helping it. The feelings he felt were foreign to him. No one had ever been so kind to his heart, and it felt so weird to have someone be so gentle with it. Not even his own rulers in the past had been so kind.

Looking up, the Slav found himself gazing into bright blue eyes, the color of a clear morning. He nearly gasped when he realized who it was being so careful with his heart. He would have never suspected his greatest rival to be so kind.

America held the heart in her hands, staring at it curiously. Blood dripped down her wrists and through her fingers, but she did not seem to take any notice. When she looked up again, she stared straight into the surprised Russian's eyes. "It's cold," she said.

Russia didn't know how to respond. Of course it was cold. Russia was cold. Personifications had quite a different physiology than humans, so his natural body temperature was colder than most. All northern nations were the same. America, strange girl, could control how her temperature worked since she had her northern states and Alaska, but also had her simpering southern states and Hawaii to make her warmer. She should have guessed that Russia's heart would be primarily cold.

Much like an acolyte or a torch bearer, the young nation carried the heart around the room and marched right over to where Russia stood, who was still a bit stunned at the warmth and gentleness he felt. Once before him, before anyone could object, America held the heart in one hand before unbuttoning Russia's shirt to reveal the gaping hole in his chest. Without ceremony, she placed the heart back within its home and watched with a look of wonderment as the skin instantly weave itself back together and close up the hole, like it had never been there at all.

Those blue eyes widened and sparkled with an odd light. "Weird," she whispered, before smiling up at Russia. The older nation found his blush increasing exponentially.

The two stared at each other for a long moment before Germany could be heard clearing his throat. "Why don't you two go wash your hands?" the German suggested. "We don't want any accidents to occur."

Almost instantly America blinked out of her trance, bringing her arms down and smiled brightly at everyone in the room. "Sounds like a plan!" she laughed, giving a thumbs up, before she walked towards the door, leaving Russia to mourn for the loss of those beautiful eyes.

It took the bigger nation a moment to realize what had been said before he nodded and headed for the door as well. As he walked out into the hallway, he heard Belarus offering to clean up the blood on the table. A shiver ran down his spine. He really hoped she hadn't been saving up to look into that whole cloning program…

He closed the door behind him quickly and scanned the halls for any sign of the American. She was nowhere to be seen. With a sigh, Russia decided that it was probably best for him to just go to the bathroom and try to clean up as much of the blood from himself as he could. He had a feeling that his white shirt was ruined forever, though. Pity. That meant he had to buy a new one.

The bathroom in the hotel they were meeting at was quite large and fancy, like all the hotels the nations stayed at when convening. When he walked in, there was a man washing his hands at the sink. The human turned to look at the new comer for a moment, so Russia smiled back. One sight of the blood on his shirt, however, had the man turning back around, his face pale. As Russia pulled out some paper towels to use to perhaps get a little blood off of his shirt , the human didn't even bother to dry his dripping hands, and instead, ran from the room, his brown eyes wide.

It was kind of sad, actually. That guy was probably going to go out and tell everyone that he saw a murderer in the bathroom. Oh well. It wasn't the first time that Ivan had been caught cleaning blood off his hands in public and it wouldn't be the last.

For several minutes, the Slav worked on trying to salvage his shirt, all the while knowing it was no use. As he scrubbed, however, his heart beat wildly in his chest. His heart still felt very warm from when America had touched it. The thought of those soft hands against his chest from when she had put it back in had the big man blushing as he grumbled to himself about how badly blood really did stain. Stupid America and her stupidly warm hands.

After another minute or so, Ivan gave up and decided that it was no use. There was no way to save this shirt. What was the point? He was just wasting time. Sighing, he grabbed fresh paper towels and whipped his face. He was sweating quite a bit, his heart still hammering away. He wondered if it would recede any time soon. It was not uncommon for his heart to do weird things after it had fallen out and then had been placed back into his chest. It would probably go back to being completely normal in an hour or so. Well, as "normal" as Russia's heart could be.

Taking several deep breaths, and feeling much calmer for it, Ivan looked in the mirror and decided that he was ready to go back to the meeting. Hopefully no one would stare at him and the meeting would continue on as it would have had there not been this annoying interruption. Hopefully the blood was all cleaned off the table and it had been Ukraine that had cleaned it and _not _Belarus. Ivan loved his little sister dearly, but that didn't mean she didn't freak him the heck out! Normal sibling wouldn't necessarily _want _to clean up their brother's blood…

Walking from the restroom, Russia began his trek back when he heard a door open behind him. He looked back on a reflex and curse as soon as he saw just who it was. America had come out of the women's restroom, looking just as perky and chipper as she normally did. Strange, considering she had not only witnessed someone's heart leap out of its owner's chest, but had placed said heart back _into _their chest. She was a very strange girl.

Unfortunately, she saw Russia look back, and smiled at the larger nation. She jogged up next to him, smiling all the while. "You okay there, Big Guy?"

"_Da_, fine," he nodded curtly, averting his eyes as his cheeks lit up again, his heart pounding.

"You sure? Because I've never seen something that crazy before!" she exclaimed, not taking the hint that Ivan didn't want to talk to her.

"Fine," he said more firmly.

"Glad to hear it!" she laughed, smacking him on the back, making the Russian fear that his heart might fall out a second time. "That was a pretty neat trick, though. How long can it stay out like that?"

Ivan groaned. He didn't want to have to explain all of this, especially to _America_.

"A while."

"That's cool! When it first happened," she went on chatting mindlessly. "It _freaked _me out!" she exclaimed dramatically. "I was like, 'Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap! Is he gunna fall over? Is he okay?' And then you were all like, 'Please remain calm,'" she pitched her voice lower in an attempt to sound like a man, and even added in her version of a Russian accent, which left the larger nation cringing. "Seriously the freakiest thing I've _ever _seen!" Russia blushed in embarrassment. "It was awesome!"

"'Awesome'?" Ivan stopped, spinning around to glare down at the annoying girl at his side. "You call a heart jumping out of a chest 'awesome'? _Nyet_! It's unnatural! It's unnatural and disgusting! Why would you _ever _find it 'awesome'?" he growled, getting the very great feeling he was being mocked by his once greatest rival.

For her part, America looked stunned, like she had honestly not expected the scolding from the bigger nation. For just a moment, it looked as though she might actually step back and run away, but that was not America. Instead, the girl frowned, those once shining blue eyes regrettably clouded over in anger as she glared up at the Slav, her jaw set stubbornly. "Sorry you're in such a bad mood," she muttered. "I didn't realize that lack of heart beat activity and oxygen made a guy default into a major PMS-ing bitch."

Before Russia could respond to the barb, America pushed past him and walked back into the conference room with her head held high and her back stiff with hurt pride. It was only then that Ivan realized that perhaps America had been serious before. Perhaps she _did _find his ability to continue living without his heart, it just leaping from his chest spontaneously, interesting. Perhaps she truly found it 'cool.'

Sighing, Ivan shook his head. Women were difficult creatures to understand, and America was ten times worse because she was _America_. The North American nation was so strange in her likings and her fears. One minute she was afraid of witches, the next she was screaming like any other fan-girl in line for the next Harry Potter movie. America was a redundancy wrapped with oxymorons and hypocritical thinking all in one. Her culture seemed to change so quickly it gave onlookers whiplash. It was no wonder that Britain had given up on her long ago, she was hopelessly ridiculous.

Walking back into the room proved to be as uncomfortable as Russia had imagined it would be. Everyone initially stared at him before most of them averted their eyes fearfully. Germany was one that watched him like a scientist would watch his test tubes and beakers, Lithuania and Ukraine looked worried, and Belarus looked pleased as she held on to a handkerchief of hers soaked in what Ivan presumed was his blood. He cringed, realizing that he was going to have to get that away from her somehow.

Unconsciously, his eyes went to America. The girl was sitting by Britain and that one fellow that always seemed to show up at meetings half the time that looked vaguely similar to America. She seemed perturbed and didn't look at him as he took his seat. That was okay, Russia didn't want her to look at him. He didn't want to see stormy blue eyes. For some reason, his heart ached at the thought.

And with as little awkwardness as possible, Germany began the meeting again, jumping straight in to where they had left off previously, before all the heart business had started. While Russia didn't always like Germany, he at least appreciated the blonde nation's work ethic and dedication to make everything run as smoothly and efficiently as possible. Because of this, Russia's embarrassment was cut in half and everyone was forced back into the meeting, made to forget Russia and his heart for the time being.

Settling back into his place, getting out his pen, Ivan began taking notes, and focusing all of his attention on the words being said, wishing that the day would just be over and that his heart didn't feel so warm.

**oOoOoOo**

That night, after the meeting, the nations all went to eat dinner in the hotel that they were all staying at in Stockholm, Sweden. It was chilly outside, though not terrible, but many of the nations didn't feel like leaving to go venture out that night, and it was decided that they'd all be dinning in. Normally, Russia didn't mind sticking around the hotel, but tonight he didn't exactly want to be in the company of anyone.

But he knew he would have to sit down with everyone, like he always did. Grin and bear it, that was his motto. Plastering on his trademark smile, Ivan sat down at the first table that he could, that just so happened to be as far away from Belarus as possible. He had no desire to be anywhere near his little sister at the moment since she had gotten a sniff of his blood. It was only when he looked up to see where he had landed that Russia regretted his hasty decision.

Without meaning to, the Slav found himself sitting at a table with Britain, France, Spain, Germany, Italy, Japan, Canada, Austria, and Hungary. Normally Russia didn't mind Germany much, even after their intense rivalry and hatred for one another during World War II, or Austria, despite all their little spats in the past, or even Italy, who Ivan could usually scare into submission, but he very truly and dearly did not like the others. He and Japan never did like one another, and Hungary could be quite annoying, and still held a grudge against him for the whole 1950s repression thing. Russia could never quite get over his grudge against Britain and how nosey he was. France was a nuisance and so was Spain by extension of association to the other. It was just a good thing that Germany hadn't brought that Prussian along, or the "Bad Touch Trio" would definitely annoy Russia. Canada…well, Russia was pretty indifferent to him.

The other occupants at the table seemed a little surprised by Russia's presence, but once Germany and Austria nodded to him, everyone else seemed to get over their shock and go back to whatever conversations they had been having before he had arrived. Ivan ignored them for the most part and looked down at his menu, trying to decide on what to order for the evening that would go good with vodka. He hadn't had a drink all day, and he desperately needed one, especially after his little episode earlier that afternoon.

But as he was perusing the menu, Ivan couldn't help but catch a rather interesting conversation between Britain and France. "You really ought to get her involved with someone," France went on. "It isn't good for a girl like her to be so…mannish," there was a frown in France's voice.

"I know, I've tried everything I can think of to make her into a lady, but America simply refuses to listen to anything that I say," Britain lamented. "Though I'm not sure a man would help anything," he bristled.

"Nonsense!" the Frenchman dismissed. "America is getting to be about that age where she should start caring about what men think of her."

"She's a Superpower, she already cares about what other people think," Britain growled.

"No, no, I think Francis means that America should be getting to that point in life where all young women come to care about how other _hombres _think of her," Spain chimed. "As in, she should start thinking more _romantically_."

"_Oui_," France nodded vigorously. "When a woman has a potential man lined up, she become more self-conscience. That could be good for our little _L'Amérique, _don't you think?"

"_Sí_! She might not act so masculine then," Spain smiled brightly.

"I don't think that will work."

Everyone at the table, except Russia, jumped at the sound of the quiet voice. While Russia had a hard time remembering the boy's name, he always did see Canada around. It was strange, though, that no one else seemed to be able to see the North American nation. Ivan couldn't help but think it would be quite inconvenient to never be seen.

"Bloody hell, Canada," Britain placed his hand over his heart. "I didn't see you there, my boy. When did you get here?"

Canada rolled his eyes, ignoring the question. "If you think Amelia's going to change just because she's dating someone, have fun believing that," he went on sassily. "She won't change for anyone."

"Good for her," Germany said, looking annoyed with the conversation, but somewhat relieved to finally find an opening to close it. "She shouldn't have to change. Now, what do you—"

"Hold on there," Hungary interrupted. A pained expression crossed Austria's face. "Just because America might not change for a man, doesn't mean she doesn't deserve one. I think it'd still be a good idea to have someone date her. Poor dear's never had any fun and dated someone before."

"You know what a prude little puritan America is," France rolled his eyes, though Russia detected a frightening mischievous spark in his eyes. "She's so stuck in her past with these types of things. I'm surprised she can sit and watch a movie with a couple kissing."

"She usually gets up to make food during those scenes," Canada said, though Russia was pretty sure he was the only one that heard that.

"Well then, I think it's about time she's gone on a date," Hungary said confidently. "Why don't we see if we can't set someone up with her?"

Russia put down the menu he was looking at, intrigued with the events going on. Normally he was not one that was into gossip or matchmaking, but anything that involved America and could possible end up causing humiliation interested him. He had discovered years ago now that he loved making America blush, he loved seeing her flustered and embarrassed. This proposition of setting her up with someone could be an opportunity for him to see his old rival squirm yet again without the consequences of nuclear war this time. This could be a tremendous amount of fun.

"What makes you think you have the right to set her up with anyone?" Austria butted in, frowning at his ex-wife. "America's been quite happy all these years without having someone else around."

"That's only because she doesn't know what she's missing," the woman dismissed hastily.

"Love is the most special gift of all!" Italy piped, his own romantic sensibilities flaring up. "We should share it with everyone, right Germany?"

The Germanic nation blushed, looking away, muttering a, "I don't know what you mean by that."

While Italy had not been commenting on anything specific related to his friend, and had only looked to the blonde for reinforcement, Spain and France found a meaning behind it, and smirked at one another. "So how is dear _Prusse _anyway, _Allemagne_?" the Frenchman raised his eyebrow suggestively.

"I really don't know what she has to do with this," Germany's face looked as though it might explode it was so red. Russia found it hilarious, especially when the blonde glared daggers at his Italian friend.

"But I don't really think America is the dating type," Britain interrupted, saving Germany in the process. "I don't like the idea of—"

"Oh, stop being a spoilsport, _Angleterre_," France purred. "You might like to think you're her father, but you're not. You're not even related. So why not play this little game of Hungary's?"

France was good. Russia wondered if anyone else caught the long haired blonde's manipulative trick, suddenly giving credit to Hungary for his original plot. Of course Hungary didn't seem about to fight with the other devious nation, and so the plan seemed safe from any British attacks. Ivan hoped it was.

"What's the harm in trying to help make America happy?" Hungary smiled at Britain with wide green eyes. "Okay, let's make this plan official. All we have to do is figure out who would be the best match for America. Canada? Oh! There you are! What sort of men does your sister like?"

The other North American nation frowned, looking highly uncomfortable with everyone staring at him for once. "I-I don't know," he shrugged.

"Oh, come now, _Matthieu_, surely you two have talked about romance," France pushed.

"No! No we haven't," the boy shook his head. "Amelia and I…well, we just don't talk about that sort of stuff."

"Honestly, for a country that produces so many smutty movies and has such a high teen pregnancy rate, you'd think America wouldn't be like this," Austria muttered.

"I know her people are a little…well, loud and getting to be risqué, but Amelia isn't like that," Canada defended. "She is still personally very conservative in most respects."

Yes, Ivan knew that already, but he was surprised to see that Britain and France, two nations that claimed to be America's own _family_, did not. Russia knew just about everything about his sisters, had made it a priority in his life, just as he made sure to know most things about everyone in case he needed the information later in life. During the Cold War, he and America had gotten to know each other quite a bit from all their fighting and spying and rivalry.

"And to respect her wishes of privacy and conservatism," Germany spoke up, "I believe that we should leave her be."

"I think we, all of us here at this table, should make a pact," Hungary spoke over the poor German. "We try and find out what sort of men she likes and hook her up with them, while also keeping in mind traits that we believe would best suit her."

"This is ridiculous, Elizabéta," Austria growled. "Will you stop making such a fool of yourself?"

"I'm not being foolish!" the woman snapped.

"_Ve_, I think we should let America date all different kinds of men!" Italy smiled brightly. "Maybe then she'll know what type she likes the best."

"That's not a bad idea, Italy!" Hungary beamed at the man she had always had fun dressing up as a little girl.

"This is absurd," Germany growled. "Why must you all feel the need to do this? Japan, please, help me talk some sense into these people," the blonde pleaded.

Like Russia, Japan had refrained from speaking throughout the entire exchange. The Asian nation stared at his old ally, looking ever so slightly uncomfortable. Ivan could guess what the small man had to say. "I do not think it is a…harmful endeavor," the island nation said slowly.

Hungary's face light up. Germany's fell. "You can't be serious," the German asked, his voice was flat.

"It is true that America-san has not had any experience with anyone before, and it's true that it could be beneficial to her to—" Japan began.

"You just want a new anime storyline, don't you?" Germany deadpanned.

"All right!" Hungary beamed at the men around the table as Japan looked away, flustered. "Then it's decided. Every man at this table, excluding Canada and Austria," she glared at her brunette as if to reiterate the point that he was to stay out of what she was preparing, "will be on standby and act as a potential suitor for America."

"There is _no _way I am being a part of this," Germany scowled.

"But _Germania_, you could end up being America's true love!" Italy exclaimed, looking horrified at the thought of his best friend potentially missing out on what could be the greatest experience of his life.

The large blonde European stared at the small Italian before he stood up and walked away. "Wait!" Italy called.

"Don't worry about him, _mon petit_," France purred. "We'll get him when the time comes."

"Good," Hungary smiled. "All right, besides Germany—who _will _be doing this whether he likes it or not— is everyone in on this?"

Everyone left looked to Britain— as they forgot about Canada again, and wouldn't have listened to his option on this matter to begin with— to see what the once great empire would have to say about this. While it was true that technically speaking, America wasn't really anything to him, England still cared very much for the girl he had raised. To everyone at the table, he was what would end up making or breaking this arrangement.

At last, the green-eyed man sighed. "Fine. Maybe this will teach her some valuable lessons. _But_!" he growled, glaring very sternly in the direction of France, Spain, and Italy. Especially France. "If anyone hurts her, they'll have to answer to _me_. I don't want this to traumatize the poor girl. And any and all date ideas must be approved by me."

"And me!" Hungary piped up. "Austria, Canada, and I will be the judges of where America goes on her dates as impartial observers. The rest of you are candidates, so you'll have other stuff to worry about. So let's all of us make a pact right here."

All the men at the table looked around at one another, each sizing up their competition. Russia felt suddenly very out of place. He had not originally sat here to get a chance at dating America, he had sat here because he didn't want to sit with his little sister, especially since she was more than likely hyper since she got a handkerchief full of his blood. But despite all his misgivings, Ivan could not deny his curiosity in this competition. Even if America decided to date one of the others—which he desperately hoped was the case as he certainly didn't want to date her!—he still wanted to know what would happen on all the other dates. This could be a very fun time for him to watch all these men make fools of themselves, because if he knew America, and he did, she would more than likely not fall for any of them. They all lacked something that would keep the girl's attention on them for very long. None of them seemed to meet the American's standards…well, Germany just might, but from what Ivan had heard tonight, and from his own past experiences, Germany would not be interested in America. _His _tastes were in…_fairer _flesh.

Smiling his typical smile, Ivan nodded along with all the other men around the table, showing his own willingness to participate. Japan was glaring at him, but Russia paid no mind. Japan was always glaring at him. Russia just thought it was funny that Japan really seemed to want to be in this silly competition and win America's affections. Oh yes, he could see through the Asian nation's mask, he knew what the island nation wanted. It really made the large nation want to laugh. How pathetic.

Hungary swiftly made plans with everyone. It was agreed that Austria, Hungary, and Canada—against the men's wills—would be the information seekers. They would be the ones in charge of doing research on America and find out what she found attractive in men. Each man, then, would have a turn taking America out on a date. If America didn't seem to respond or like one, then he would be replaced by the next one standing in line. If America did end up liking someone and began dating them, then the competition was over, even if there were others that didn't get a chance. During the date, however, the other candidates, and the research team, would be watching, basically spying on the date to see how they could improve the next one. It was foolproof, and something Russia very much wanted to be a part of. Oh, how much fun it would be!

The dinner came to a close, as did the planning for the secret operation. Italy had gotten Germany to come back, and while the blonde was not told that he would be a participant, he at least promised not to tell America directly what the others were planning. That seemed good enough for everyone else, except Austria and Canada who everyone ignored.

And so, that night, Russia got ready for bed in a very good mood despite his white shirt being covered in blood. He could always get a new shirt. He was just so excited about this plan! He couldn't _wait _to see how America would act with all of the romantic fools! The girl was so dense she probably wouldn't even notice most of them were interest in her at all. It would certainly be a laugh!

Crawling into bed, the Russian turned out the light, and smile to himself. As he began to doze off, his heart beating steadily in his chest, and he couldn't help but feel warm all over. Just before he fell into slumber, he imagined warm hands tenderly holding his heart.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>…because I felt like writing something ridiculous and sweet (for once) involving Russia and America…and everyone else. XD I just had this random idea the other night and decided that I had to write it out, and after my good friend DA4TheFunOfIt looked it over, she said that it was good enough to post, so here it is! Thanks a lot DA! You're awesome!

My stories usually have historical bits that seep into the storyline, and this one is no different. Most of you, if you follow Hetalia, should know most of it that's in here, but one you might not remember is in 1956 Hungary rebelled against the Soviet Union, which resulted in Russian troops occupying Hungary for a short while after Khrushchev decided he wanted to be more lenient than Stalin and word leaked out (thanks to American spies). You really ought to know the rest, but in case you don't and you have questions, feel free to ask me. ^^

And so, thanks everyone for reading! Please drop me a review on your way out, if you'd be so kind! I'd really appreciate it!


	2. Chapter 2: English Garden Luncheon

**Chapter Two: English Garden Luncheon**

After the meeting in Stockholm, the conspirators' exchanged private contact information before they went their separate ways, just so that they could touch base with one another along the way in the plot to hook America up with someone. Germany didn't give any of his personal information, but Italy was certain he could get it, and if that failed, Hungary _knew _she could ring it out of Austria with enough threats and arm twisting. And so, with everything set, the nations went their separate ways, most of them thrilled with the competition.

Russia flew back to Moscow in a very good mood. He liked the idea of making America twitch and being uncomfortable in all of this, just like he used to do. And because all the other nations were going to be around to "help" each candidate, Ivan was certain he could help make this competition interesting. There were so many possibilities to work with, and he was quite anxious to get started. He began making a list of all of the wonderfully horrible things he could do to undermine the other men's chances with America. He knew he didn't have to worry about making America like a fool, though; she was always good at that on her own.

The next several days went by in a flash, and each day Russia became more and more impatient for something to happen. His list had gotten quite long and he was really hoping to put some of his plans to action. It had been a long time since he had been out to have some fun like this, and he was getting giddy. The best part of all of this was that it wasn't _his _idea, so if they were caught, he wouldn't get into much trouble, not from the other nations, not from his boss, not from anyone. No one could trace this plot to him, and if he was lucky, no one would be able to trace back this little list of his to him either.

Five days after the meeting, Ivan's cell phone rang. Confused, as no one really ever called him on this particular phone, he answered a little bit sleepily. It was getting to be late, after all. "_Privet_?"

"Get on Skype right now," the very bossy voice of Hungary filtered through to him, causing the Russian to scowl.

"I do not have—"

"Well then, create an account right now!" she ordered. "Find me, add me as a friend. The others are already waiting."

"I do not know your nam—"

"It's 'boylover1989'. Add me and get on. I've opened up a channel with everyone on," she explained. "Quick!"

Feeling flustered and annoyed at being ordered around, Russia did what he was told and opened his laptop. It took him about ten minutes or so before he was able to find Skype and download it. It wasn't really that hard, an American could even do it! But what took Ivan forever was to think of a proper screen name. Hungary's sounded stupid to him, and he didn't want anyone to think that his name was stupid too. He had heard once that a person could not change their name on here without creating a new account, so he knew he had to choose wisely.

His phone started to ring again impatiently, and he knew Hungary was getting angry with him. Sighing, Russia typed in the first thing that came to his mind and started it up. He logged in and searched for Hungary. She immediately accepted his friend request and his screen started ringing, telling him he had a call.

"There you are!" Hungary exclaimed, snapping shut her phone. "Hold on, I'll try and expand this again so that everyone can see each other as we talk."

Russia watch curiously, wondering why they just couldn't talk on the phone, before his screen expanded and he saw the faces of all of the other conspirators save Germany. The blonde must have figured out a way to stay out of this longer than the others had anticipated. The others were there, however, including that one guy that looked like America, and even a very disgruntled looking Austrian. Seeing all of the discomfort and every other emotions flashing on other people's faces made the Russian grin.

"Okay!" Hungary said, hers being the biggest picture Russia saw. "Now that everyone's here, we first need to all friend Russia so that he can get on this easier next time." The others grumbled and Ivan knew that all of the other men were looking him up as she spoke. "Anyway, Austria, Canada, and I have come up with the first person America should date."

Ivan found himself sitting up a little bit straighter, as did the others, as they waited. "Well, who is it?" France spoke up, apparently bored and needing answers.

Hungary smiled. "We've decided—"

"You decided," Austria muttered.

"—that the first person America should go out with is England."

It was so very hard not to laugh at the Englishman's surprised face, but somehow Ivan managed. It went from horrified to confused, to ill and back. "_Me_?" he gasped. France and Spain did laugh. "Why me?"

"It's so obvious!" Hungary continued to smile, looking like she was nearly bouncing up and down in her seat. "You're the one who's known America since she was little. You're the person she looked up to for a very long time. She respects you, though she might not always say it, and I think that you two would do well to balance each other out."

"I-I _raised_ her!" Britain's face was an interesting shade of green and red at the same time. "I didn't know you were going to throw _me _into this too! I can't date America!"

"Why not?" Italy spoke up. "You like her, don't you?"

"W-well, I, um…it's not like…I mean," England stuttered around.

"It's just one date, _mon cher_," France's smile was outright wicked. "What's the harm in taking her out once? She won't even like you, so you'll be out of the contest quickly."

While Russia really didn't like France, he liked him at this moment. Ivan knew he couldn't say anything or seem too eager or else the others might get suspicious. Well, Japan always looked at him suspiciously, but that was nothing new. Ivan got into this competition because of a lucky mistake, and he certainly didn't want to get kicked out of it because the others thought he was up to something. It was hard to get the western nations to trust him, and this might be his one shot, so he was glad France was here.

"There could be great harm!" Britain screamed. Those wearing headsets winced. "She _could_ end up liking me!"

"I wouldn't be too worried about that," France winked. "No one could ever love you."

"You bloody frog! Why don't you shut that gaping hole that passes as a mouth!"

"Why don't you make me?"

"I'll show you, you egotistical wanker! I'll take America out on the best lunch date she's ever been on and then you'll see who's unlovable you disease-ridden pervert!"

"Excellent!" Hungary cried, clapping her hands excitedly. "Then it's decided. Britain will take America out on a lunch date."

The island nation blinked his emerald eyes several times, coming out of his trance of anger, before he stared at the screen in shock. "H-huh?"

"I say you invite America over in two days," the woman went on. "That'll give the rest of us time to get there and set up before she arrives. Is that all right with everyone else? Can you leave for England soon?"

"I can!" Spain called, smiling brightly. "I was scheduled to have a meeting with him in the next couple of days anyway."

"I always have time to see my pathetic neighbor," France smirked, making Britain flush angrily.

"_Hai_, I believe I can rearrange my schedule to come as well," Japan nodded. "Though I might have to have a meeting with England-san to justify it."

"I can come! I can come!" Italy bounced in and out of the screen. "I'll bring pasta!"

"I'll bring Austria along with me, so we'll be there," Hungary grinned.

"Hey! I happen to have a very important—"

"We'll be there," Hungary said again, more firmly this time. "We'll see if we can't get Germany to come too."

Then everyone turned and looked at Russia. Ivan felt a little pressured for some reason, but he smiled at them all calmly and nodded. "_Da_, I will most certainly be there."

Hungary, Italy, and Spain gave a small cheer. "Great! All right, I'll see you all in England soon!"

And then everyone signed off almost instantly, leaving Russia to stare at a screen at Canada. The young nation sighed, apparently not noticing that the window was still open to Russia. "How come no one asks me about my plans?" he muttered before he too signed off.

Sitting back, Russia thought about all of the plans he already had scheduled for that day and all of the arguing he would be doing with his bosses. He wasn't too worried though, because in the end, everyone always saw things Russia's way...well, except for America. She was always so independent and never knew when to shut up and quit. That's why Ivan hated her; she was just too spirited. Though he had to admit, she was also someone that gave him something to do, kept him from getting bored at least. And now she would do that by humiliating Britain for all of them to watch. What fun!

Picking up his work phone, Russia dialed in the first number that came to his head. "Hello, Putin? It's Russia. About our meetings this week…"

**oOoOoOo**

The plane ride to the United Kingdom was long and rather boring, filled with the screams of infants whose parents obviously didn't know how to do their jobs. It was rather annoying, especially when he had looked back to kindly ask one of the mothers to quiet the screaming of her child, but that only caused the baby to cry louder upon seeing Ivan's face. That hadn't been very nice; it's not his fault that it was obvious he was irritated. He couldn't always control the aura around him for showing his displeasure.

But this little four hour jaunt would be worth it just as soon as they landed. He would be meeting up with the rest of his merry little band to get things ready before America showed up later that afternoon for her first date. He had been told, via Spain, that America had enthusiastically accepted Britain's invitation and had volunteered to bring Scrabble so she could introduced her former caretaker to all of the new "English" words she had come up with. The thought of it made Ivan smile as he could just see England go red in the face with anger at all of the girl's "misspellings" and her "mispronunciations." It would certainly be great fun should they play the game.

The moment the plane landed, Ivan was up and out, ready to get off of that God-forsaken device. He normally flew first class, but since Putin had gotten mad at him for canceling everything so suddenly, had even had the nerve to tell him he couldn't go, Russia had gone online and bought the first cheapest tickets he found. But he had learned a valuable lesson: next time he _would _spring and pay out of pocket for first class. It would be worth it.

Once out in the airport, he looked around to see if anyone was there to meet him. Not unsurprisingly, England was there with a sign that simply said "Russia." The other people around him looked a bit confused as to why there was a man holding up that particular sign instead of a name, but they left him alone seeing as the blonde looked to be in a bad mood.

Ivan walked over to his host, smiling what he thought was a pleasant sort of smile. "_Privyet, Britaniya_."

"Hello, Russia," the man nodded politely. "How was your flight?"

The piercing screams of infants invaded his thoughts, but Ivan shook them away. "Tolerable, I suppose."

And that was the end of their conversation for the time being. England looked uncomfortable and Russia really had no desire to speak. They looked like a rather unique pair as they walked along the airport, Britain a short blonde with thick eyebrows and Russia, a very tall, broad man in a long coat and scarf. When they walked out into the late morning sun, Ivan wondered if he should not have opted to leave his coat behind.

Instead of a limo or nice car like Russia was used to driving in when in another country, he was surprised to find England leading him to a large white van that had no windows in the back. Ivan didn't ask about it, however, and Britain didn't say anything. Instead, the two opened their respected doors, and the moment they did, the loud rush of multiple languages assaulted their ears.

"—_drugged _me to get me here! THAT'S NOT OKAY!"

"Don't be such a baby, Germany, it didn't hurt you!"

"_Ve_, I could really go for some pasta. I shouldn't have eaten it all before boarding the plane!"

"Aw, it'll be all right, _amigo. _We'll stop for food soon, I think."

"_Honhonhon!_ It seems one more has been added to our collection."

At France's statement, the van quieted and looked up at the front. Ivan stared back at all the other nations crammed in the back of what looked similar to an old spy vehicle. There were computers and all sorts of devices Ivan hadn't seen in a while since his government had banned him from going into the spy networks after he tried to come up with any reason to go and attack Poland since the petit blonde had told him at a World Meeting several years ago that he was getting fat. Russia was _not _fat…he had just put on a few extra pounds to turn into muscle later on…when he felt like it.

"Oh shut up," England muttered before climbing in the driver's side.

Knowing that they were leaving soon, Russia climbed into the passenger side, with his small suitcase, and closed the door just in time before Britain began backing up and driving away. "I ask again," the host nation growled to the others in the back. "It might not look it, but that is highly sophisticated equipment. Don't break anything."

"Britain, _mon cher_, you aren't really going to wear those _rags, _are you?" France popped his head up between the two front seats. "You look like a peasant going to woo a princess."

"Shut _up, _Frog!" England's hands tightened around the steering wheel. "For your information, _yes, _I _am _going to wear this, and second, I doubt very much that America will notice this. This is a _causal _lunch date. She won't care."

"If that is what you want to believe," the Frenchman shrugged.

"Pardon me," Japan spoke up over the sound of Austria, Hungary, and Germany bickering in the background. "But where are you planning to take America-san?"

For just a moment, Britain's features relaxed as he thought, his driving becoming less aggressive as well, Ivan noticed. "I managed to get us a reservation for a nice little restaurant just outside of London in the garden. America's always loved gardens." Russia made mental note of that.

"England," Germany's booming voice cover up anything else Japan might have said in response. "I demand that you turn this vehicle back around and take me back to the airport!"

"You only just got here, _Germania_!" Italy cried.

"I was not conscious when I was boarded on or off the plane, and am here against my will," the blonde went on, ignoring the small Italian. "If you don't take me back this instant I will be forced to call my government and tell them I've been kidnapped!"

"That would be pretty embarrassing, _non?_" France smirked. "The Great Germany _kidnapped _by Austria and Hungary. How very sad. Are you as easily stopped by frying pans as well?"

It didn't matter what anyone else said about France, Russia knew he could never deny the other nation's talent of conniving manipulation. As expected, at the prospect of being publicly humiliated at the fact that his two once greatest allies had managed to trick him with no resistance on his part, shut the Germanic nation up soundly. Germany was still a nation with a lot of pride, and he hated being made to look like a fool. So to save face, he scowled darkly at his western neighbor, muttering a dark, "I'll kill you one day, just you wait," while the long haired nation smirked, eyes twinkling.

So with Germany no longer providing any resistance, Britain was able to drive relatively more peacefully until he came to a stop near his home. When he parked, he turned around to look at the other nations crammed in the van. "All right, so America insisted that she would meet me at my flat, so the rest of you will have to follow me when I'm driving in my car."

Russia almost added that they should stay a good distance behind Britain's vehicle for the sake that if America saw a large white van following behind them every step of the way, she would no doubt become increasingly paranoid to the extent that she would concocted some sort of elaborate idea that she was being hunted by terrorists or some such nonsense, and would probably end up attacking the van, but instead, he kept his mouth tightly closed. He wondered if anyone knew how the large western nation would act, but no one spoke up about that. They just gave their general acknowledgments to Britain's words.

Ivan couldn't help but smirk. It seemed that he was the only one who truly knew America. He didn't let in on his secret, though, for the sheer fact that he loved being smug, it made him feel superior. It would also be quite amusing to see how events would turn out in this instance. America was sure to go over the top and be exciting, so the only question was how the others would react?

"All right then," England nodded. "Well, be _careful _with this lorry. I borrowed this for the day and the Prime Minister would be _quite _displeased with me should something happen to it."

With that, the Englishman unbuckled himself and walked the rest of the way to his flat. Ivan could tell that the island was nervous for his up and coming date because not only had he been sweating a lot and fidgeting with his sweater, but he had forgotten to appoint a driver when he left. There were several assertive nations in the vehicle, so Russia sat back and wondered who would prevail dominate and become captain of this vessel. He had a guess, but it was fun to be surprised sometimes.

The nations all sat quietly for a moment before France stretched. "Well that's that then," he smiled. "I do hope he takes my suggestion and changes."It was when France opened the back to step out that made the Russian's smile sweeten happily.

"Where do you think you're going?" Germany growled.

"Well, someone has to drive this thing," the old nation flipped his hair.

"What makes you think that you can drive?" the younger blonde snapped.

"_Honhonhon! _Isn't it obvious? I have the most experience in Britain. I know how to drive here."

"I don't want you to drive," Austria spoke up.

"What? Why?" France demanded, looking a little hurt.

"The _last _time you drove with me in the car, you saw a woman on the street. You were staring at her and _not _the road, and you ended up turning the vehicle the _opposite _direction she was and went into the other lane, nearly causing a massive wreck," the pianist stated bluntly. "I'll not have my life at risk with _you _at the wheel."

"That was one time!" the romantic pouted.

"It only _takes _one time," the brunette crossed his arms.

"I don't want you driving either," Hungary agreed.

"I'll drive!" Italy raised his hand.

"_Non_."

"_No_."

"_Nein_."

"_Nem_."

"_Nashi_."

"_Nyet._"

Even Russia and Japan had spoken up on that one, so that the whole van had voted against the Italian. There weren't many things nations could unanimously agree upon, but the thought of Veneziano driving in _England, _where the cars went the _opposite _way he was used to, scared everyone shitless. While stereotypes are not always true and are never a good thing to apply to humans, personifications were themselves the embodiment of stereotypes, so they were understandable wary of the Italian. That, and the fact that Veneziano himself, as a personal habit he'd developed, had taken to making racecar noises as he drove, which was always disconcerting.

With that decision made, Germany stepped out of the van, literally shoved France back in, slammed the door shut behind him, and sat in the driver's seat. Everyone stared at the blonde—France glared—but when the German turned back around to scowl at everyone, they all shifted uncomfortably. "I am driving," he stated. "Does anyone have a problem with that?"

Almost automatically, everyone in the vehicle, France included, shook their head, giving a, "No, Sir!" all of them having been occupied and/or allied/ friendly with Germany in the twentieth century, save Russia. Hearing the obedience the German still commanded out of all of them when he use _that _voice on them, Russia couldn't help but start laughing. It was funny, no matter how arrogant the other nations were now, how they all claimed that no one controlled them, they still had a deeply ingrained respect—or fear—for Germany. It was similar to how Ivan himself could still get surprising results and intimidate those that had once been part of the Soviet Union.

Once Russia settled down, the others calmed and they all waited in a tense silence, knowing that they were dealing with a pissy Germany—which could very well lead to a violent Germany— and a Russia in a humorous mood… which could, incidentally, lead to a violent Russia. But luckily, the awkward tension didn't last long, because a taxi drove up to England's flat, and even from their spot farther down the street, they could see a very vibrant looking America step out. She was dressed in simple blue jeans with her cowboy boots and a red top of some sort under her classic bomber jacket. Her blonde hair blew in the wind and into her face as she leaned over and paid the driver. They could all tell she laughed before she bounced up the steps to knock on Britain's door.

"Well…at least she didn't wear that gaudy American flag t-shirt…" France muttered. The others silently agreed.

A minute later, Britain and America came out, America's laughter could be heard nearly half a block away. They got into England's little car and they started off. Russia was a little disappointed when Germany didn't shoot off after them, but stayed still, watched them intently. When they turned the corner, he started the van and drove after them. It was slightly surprising, but wholly comforting how Germany was able to drive in the English traffic without batting an eyelash, as he watched the car intently. Russia decided that it was probably a good thing that Germany was here to drive, seeing as anyone else would have been absolutely terrible. Well, maybe not Canada so much, but everyone _else_.

"There, they're stopping, there!" Spain leaned forward, pointing to where they pulled over.

"_Ja, ja_, I see," the driver snapped.

They pulled over and waited until the couple walked inside the restaurant before Germany drove over and parked close. The moment the van was turned off, Hungary and Spain jumped on the technology in the back and began turning it on and twisting knobs and dials trying to get everything to work. "What are you doing!" Austria hissed at them. "You're going to break everything and then _we'll _have to buy Britain new equipment!"

"No, no, we'll figure it out," Spain smiled cheerfully. "Don't worry, I got this!"

"Let Russia and Japan work on everything," Germany growled.

The Asian nation frowned ever-so-slightly. It made Russia smirk. "I do not mean to contradict you, _Doitsu-san_," Japan spoke up. "But I believe I will be able to work everything myself. There is no need to bother _Roshia-san_."

"Don't be silly!" Russia smiled brightly at the smaller man, who was glaring at him now. "I will be happy to help!"

"Do you even know how to work any of this technology?" the black haired nation asked as neutrally as possible.

"Well, there is no one else in the world that's spied on America more than _Russland_, except maybe _Groβbritannien_," Germany reasoned.

Happily, Russia moved to the back of the van and with Japan, began fixing everything the overeager Spain and Hungary had changed and unsettled. In no time, the "neighbors" had the screens working and connected to the hidden cameras within the café gardens, and the two put on headsets so that they could get the sound working. "Britain? Can you hear me?" Japan asked.

There were several different views being filmed, one close to the table at which the couple was sitting, one an aerial view, and Britain had even placed a small camera on his shirt, so that they all got a fair image of America sitting across from him. Upon hearing Japan's voice, Britain cleared his throat and gave a sharp nod towards the camera.

When seeing that, America cocked her head to the side. Russia smiled, realizing that his former nemesis had picked up in the odd behavior. While she might have been oblivious when it came to romantic relationships, America was quite observant in other aspects of life. That's actually why she made a dangerous enemy, because she was quite good at picking up small details and body language, and had perfected it over the course of the Cold War.

Taking out the headphones so that everyone could listen now, the nations sat back to watch the fun. "What's up with you?" America's voice filled the van. "Are you getting sick? Because if you're getting sick, I don't want to touch anything you do, 'cause I don't want to get sick!"

France and Spain started laughing at the blunt manner of the American. Russia smiled at the cute frown that came to America's face.

"Oh, no I'm fine," Britain said quickly. "I just—"

"Had a piece of bread lodged in my throat," Russia said quickly into the headset.

"—had a piece of bread caught in my throat," England repeated faithfully. Ivan started giggling.

America stared at her former caretaker oddly, which only furthered Russia's glee. "But you haven't eaten anything yet…"

Britain's eyes widened before he laughed a little uneasily. "Let's get some drinks, shall we?"

"That was a mean trick, _La Russie_," French wagged his finger at the big nation, giving him a wink.

Russia shrugged innocently. "I wasn't entirely sure he heard us the last time."

"So, why'd you call me out here today?" America's voice came over the speakers.

"Well, I just thought we should start spending more time together," England smiled, though it was a little nervous.

"Really?" America looked stunned. "You _want _to hang out with me more?" Again, France and Spain started laughing while Italy looked sad for her. "Okay! Sweet, we should go hit the pubs sometime! Maybe we could go there now?"

"Pubs aren't appropriate for an outing of _this _kind," the Britain's voice wavered slightly, as he tried to move past the girl's oblivion. "Isn't it beautiful? Anyway…how have you been?"

The blonde woman across from him frowned slightly, as though she found it odd that Britain would invite her all the way here only to ask her how she was, but to her credit, America smiled and launched in to a wonderful expletive of her life and all of the "totally cool!" things that she had done that week. It was a true test of England's ability to remain gentlemanly and under control while the girl blathering on. Personally, Ivan knew that he would have told the girl to shut up by now, seeing as she kept jumping from one tangent to another, but that was just him. Really, did dating mean that a persona had to endure this kind of torture? He wondered if that meant that Britain would get to torture America in a similar sort of fashion later on. That actually sounded like some fun! Russia began plotting all the ways _he _would torture America when it was his turn.

"—and then I was like, 'Beam me up, Tony!' and he totally didn't know what I was talking about!" America finally slowed down in her rapid speech. She slumped back in her chair. "I don't think he actually watched all the seasons of Star Trek like I told him to," she huffed.

Britain seemed to come out of his boredom induced comma just in time to answer. "O-oh, well, I'm sure he'll get around to them," he looked as though he really didn't know how to respond.

"Yeah, I guess," America twisted her lips thoughtfully. "Hey, so what did you really want to talk to me about?"

_Sharp_, Russia thought. America, despite her tendency to get sidetracked at times, really did not let her suspicions go, she saved them away to bring up later. That's another thing that Russia had learned the hard way in the past. She was the type that lulled you into a false sense of security before she came back to bite you in the ass. It was annoying, one of the things that Russia hated most about her…Though he supposed he did the same thing at times.

"I told you," Britain went on, looking a little nervous.

"Tell her you just wanted to see her. That you _always _want to see her," France spoke in one of the headsets.

"Nice!" Hungary smiled brightly at the blonde man.

"I-I just wanted to see you, Amelia," Britain repeated, looking as though he were a little unsure about all this, but he grabbed her hand. "I…I _always _want to see you."

The North American nation started at her former caretaker as though he had grown a horn in the middle of his head. In the back, Canada groaned, which made Russia smile. It was obvious that America wasn't sure why Britain was speaking the way he was, but what _was _painfully obvious was that she thought he was acting weird.

"O-kay," she drawled before the waiter came back with their food. In the middle of America's spiel, England had wisely ordered them food. "So," America began again once the waiter was gone. "What are you up to lately?"

"Well, I've actually been reviewing these old documents from the 1500s, and I must say, they are so fascinating!" England began, looking truly excited about the subject.

"Stop!" France hissed in the microphone. "What are you doing, idiot? Tell her that she is more interesting than anything!"

"Tell her that her eyes sparkle brighter than your passion for magic," Spain chimed in.

"Tell her that she is beautiful and you want to spend the rest of your life with her!" Italy cried.

The poor Englishmen turned red, looking absolutely flustered as he stopped speaking mid-sentence. America frowned worriedly. "Hey, dude? You okay?"

"I-I'll be right back."

Britain jumped up out of his seat and left the camera view. The more "romantic" nations and Hungary began calling out to him, asking him where he was going, as Germany and Austria sat back and watched the camera that had been attached to the Englishman's coat. "He's coming to the van, you know," Japan's cool voice came over the frantic ones.

Immediately after he had said this, the van doors were ripped open, and a very displeased Englishman was standing before them. "What the bloody hell do you all think you're doing?" the blonde cried. "I'm on a date! Stop telling me what to do! I've been on dates before you know!"

"It doesn't really look like it," France huffed, which, of course, started a brawl between the two.

As the two great former enemies fought and everyone tried to break it up, Russia sat still and watched America from the cameras. She looked very bored. She slumped back in her seat, staring at her food, as though wondering if she should eat it or wait for England to come back. At first she looked around the gardens and played with the foliage close to her, smiling gently. Then she reached out and grabbed a chip and popped it into her mouth. She smiled and began devouring her fries happily. A waitress came by and America started talking to the girl animatedly. Ivan wished the camera was a little closer so he could lip read what they were saying.

The fighting ceased, and Britain stormed off, back to his date. Russia vaguely wondered what had happened, but he was too interested in what America was doing. "Sorry about that," England said as he sat down again as the waitress rushed off.

"It's cool," America responded easily. "You okay? You look a little…ruffed up there."

"Fine, fine," the other brushed off the concern. "Amelia, I feel that I should just tell you why I've called you here," he sighed. The girl sat up a little straighter. "The truth is, I've… I've been meaning to get out a little more. I thought it would be good for me to start…bloody hell, how would you American's say it?… 'start getting back onto the scene', if you understand me." America sat staring at the man blankly, causing Britain to flush. "I mean to start dating again, Amelia," he blurted, "and I want yo—"

"Oh my God, Iggy!" America sat up, smiling such a brilliant smile, it rivaled the sun.

"Yes!" Hungary breathed. "I-I think we did it! First try!" she squealed. "Look at that face! I think she's in love!" Russia couldn't help by frown at that.

"This is so perfect!" America went on.

The poor emerald-eyed nation looked absolutely lost, looking a strange mix of relieved, happy, and all around confused. "I-It is? You mean you really…after all this time, you really want to date m—"

"Say no more," the brash American smiled happily. "I _totally _have the perfect date for you!"

Britain frowned at her sentence structure. "'For me'? Don't you mean that you—"

"Dude, I have this all under control!" she winked, suddenly looking more like a little kid than a woman in love. "You know that one waitress?"

Everyone, Britain included, blinked. "No."

"The one that's had her eye on you since we came in here?" America rolled her eyes. "Well, hold on to your trousers old man, but I got you a date with her while you went out to do whatever it was you did! Isn't that great?"

Ivan started laughing. He couldn't help it. He started laughing loud and long, and soon he heard other voices added to his own. Of _course _America wasn't in love with Britain. It didn't make sense! England was the one that raised her, true, but he was also the one that scolded her frequently, the one that she fought with on a regular basis. America was a free spirit, one that didn't like the white noise of empty threats. But what made it funny was the fact that she had not realized Britain's clear attentions towards her, and had tried to transfer his affections to someone else.

Perhaps Russia didn't need his list after all; America's foolery was enough to keep him thoroughly entertained all on her own.

"The waitress," England's face fell. "Right."

"Isn't this great, Iggy?" America gushed. "I'm so glad you want to date, because she said she sees you in here a lot and that she was just too shy to ask you out herself, and now it all works for everyone! I'll try and flag her down!"

And thus the date between America and England ended, with sad headshakes and some giggles. The lunch, which had started as two, ended up with three as the waitress took her break and sat with the two nations to eat and get to know Britain a little better. As the others drove away before the "couple" left, the other candidates realized that if anyone was going to get through America's solid defense of denseness, they were going to have to lay on the charm _thick_. But in all honestly, Russia probably couldn't have thought of a happier ending to this first game if he'd planned it out himself.

Yes, this game was going splendidly, and he couldn't _wait _for the next time they all got together.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>…This turned out longer than I thought it would…but it was just so fun! Hope you don't mind such a long chapter. I just loved writing the conflict and fighting between everyone. It was so fun! XD

And if you were wondering, I should have mentioned this before, this story is based on the old stereotype and all American women are prudes. I believe that that's starting to change a little bit, sadly, but America, even nowadays, is still quite conservative compared to other nations in the world, so that's where I'm coming from.

Have any questions, feel free to ask. France up next!

Okay, well, please leave me a review on your way out if you don't mind. I'd appreciate it.


	3. Chapter 3: Romance in the City of Lights

**Chapter Three: Romance in the City of Lights**

The disastrous date in London became quite the joke amongst the conspirators in to get America to fall in love. It was actually quite amusing whenever Russia thought about watching the girl and her former caretaker out on their date. Luckily France had managed to get a copy of it since Japan had "accidently" recorded it, and had added in ridiculous music and sound effects and humorous subtitles to go along with it before he'd sent it to all of the candidates in line to win America's heart, as well as Austria and Hungary. Russia was fairly sure Canada had not received a copy since he seemed woefully out of the loop the last time they all spoke and made inside jokes, same as England, who, poor man, was unaware of the video's existence as well.

But that was all okay with Ivan. He liked very much what France had done, and he loved this little game they were all playing. America was certainly a great piece for their game, a real wild card in the hand. While there was only so much Russia and the others could do to make their plans more amusing for the others watching, it was America that could make or break the whole operation, and thus far she seemed unknowingly keen to play right into the Slavic nation's schemes.

The days stretched on into weeks before Ivan received his next skype call. It was not very long, as not all of the nations could speak for very long, and in some places, it was still rather early in the morning, but despite all that, Russia did notice that two faces were missing.

"Okay," Hungary said once all the men seemed settled. "As you can see, Austria and I still haven't gotten Germany to agree to talk to us—stubborn man," she muttered under her breath, "—but we're also leaving England out of this call for now."

"_Ve_, you mean he won't be coming with us next time to whoever else's turn it is?" Italy asked, still in his pajamas.

"No, he'll be coming," Hungary's smile turned rather sinister and uncomfortably reminded Russia of Belarus. He knew this wouldn't end well for the European island. "But we'll just leave him a bit…in the dark for now, because Austria, Canada, and I—"

"It was still all Hungary, really," Austria drawled.

"—decided that the next man America should date should be France."

"_Ohonhonhon~!_" the blonde chuckled appreciatively. "My turn already? Are you sure that is fair to the other contestants? They won't be getting a turn it seems."

All though it was simply France being France, there was something about the blonde's cocky attitude that made Russia want to beat his brains in with his led pipe. It would be pretty fun actually, they could even reenact the War of 1812. He just knew the Frenchman would have ever so much fun with that.

"No, it's fair," Hungary nodded, still smiling. "It seems Britain just didn't have enough experience with the whole love thing, so we thought why not have her learn a few lessons from the most romantic country in the world? Even if she doesn't fall in love with you, France, or she still might want another date, but could also look to the next candidate and learn the proper way to behave on another date at least."

"Sounds good to me," Spain smiled. "Where do you think you're going to take her, _amigo_?"

"Somewhere magical, of course," France flipped his hair in just the right way that convinced Ivan that the blonde was probably the _last _man, personification or otherwise, in the entire galaxy, or any other, that America would be disposed to like and find herself attracted to.

The last time America and France had actually gotten along fairly well had been in 1776 when they had teamed up against Britain so that America could fight for her independence, and even then their "friendship" had hardly been anything great. France had wanted to stick it to England while keeping on good terms with the Americans so that his own territories in the New World would remain safe, and America had only wanted to use France for his money and support.

The "friendship" had ended when the revolutionary fever had been passed from America to France and thus plunged France into one of the bloodiest revolutions and civil wars ever. But what had truly twisted the knife into the wound was the fact that when France had called out to America for help, the girl had just blinked at him, as though not understanding why he was asking her for anything, and declared herself neutral in the affairs of the Europeans. She had shut herself off from the rest of the world, and effectively procured France's eternal resentment.

But that had been fine with Russia, then and now. After America turned her back on Western Europe, and thus Western Europe had turned their backs to her, it had allowed for Russia and America to become rather close for a while. The two strange nations, so very different from and yet still European in many respects, had found a sense of comradery in their mutual disgust with Britain, France, and others at the time, and come together for trade and to make an alliance. It had been the best relationship Russia had ever had with America, but that had quickly changed when they had entered into the twentieth century.

Shaking himself out of his reserve, Russia realized that he hadn't missed much, just France babbling on and on about how he would win America over and the like. It all sounded incredibly boring, as far as Ivan was concerned, and he considered switching off his screen after informing the others that he would be there. Canada, too, looked about ready to call it quits, especially since Russia was pretty sure it was only two in the morning in Ottawa.

"Great!" Hungary broke the chatter at last. "Sounds great. Can everyone meet in Paris in…" she looked to the blonde.

"Come in a week," France smiled handsomely. "I need a little time to prepare and make sure everything is _parfait_."

"Sounds great," the woman smiled again. "All right, well, see you all in a week! Bye!"

One by one, everyone began logging out, Canada the front runner, but before Russia could, oddly enough, France stopped him. "Oh _Russie_? Might I have a word with you?"

Ivan almost groaned, but he managed to stop it and keep his trademark smile in place. "_Da? _What can I do for you?"

Once it was obvious none of the others were still lingering on skype, France sighed, looking rather uncomfortable. "All right, well, I hate to admit this, but I…I might need your help."

Instantly alert, ears perked, Russia found himself sitting up a bit straighter, and his smile becoming a little sweeter in its own cruel way. "Oh? What with?" he kept his voice as pleasant as he could.

France seemed a little put out, especially after all his bluster about how he was the most romantic and wonderful lover in the world, but to his credit, he seemed to ready himself for whatever it was he was about to ask. "You see, _mon ami_, _Allmagne_, though I'm loathed to admit it, was right when we were all last together in Britain: you _have _spied on America more than anyone else in the world, except perhaps Britain himself. That being the case, you obviously have had time to see what America is like, how she acts…Would you mind…telling me…what some of those things might be?"

As the blonde flushed with embarrassment, Russia couldn't have smiled brighter if he tried. Was France _really _asking him, _Russia, _for advice? It was hysterical! It was the most absurd thing Ivan had heard in a long time. The very idea that the former Soviet Union himself might be able to coach others in the art of wooing America, of all nations, was downright hilarious.

"In return, if I do _somehow_ fail, I will help you as well, _mon ami_," France hurried on when Ivan didn't answer right away. "We all know that Russians certainly aren't the most…passionate lovers, and I would be happy to help you when it is your turn."

Ivan wasn't sure, but he was fairly certain he was insulted by the blonde's insinuations of not being a good lover. Who was the nation who was teased the most for being effeminate to judge the Russian standards of lovemaking or courtship? Russians were passionate…it really was unfair that others didn't notice because it was so cold in his homeland. But that only proved Ivan's point all the more, in his mind, since sex was a surefire way to stay nice and warm. Body heat really was the best and most organicway to keep the chill away.

That was all beside the point, however. The point was that the most perfect golden opportunity had just fallen into Ivan's lap, and he wasn't about to give it up. He had thought to give up his list, but now was the opportune time to resurrect it and put it into practice. Ivan knew in that moment that there had to be a God, and that He loved the Russian very much.

Smiling as unthreateningly as an eccentric, formerly crazed nation could, Russia nodded eagerly. "_Da_! _Da_, I would be very happy to help you if you help me in return," he lied right through his teeth. "What would you like to know?"

France should have known better. He really should have, but Russia was a master of manipulation, even more so than the western nation, and so, when Ivan pitched his voice into his childish innocent tone, the blonde fell for it hook, line, and sinker, as though he had completely forgotten just what the former Soviet was capable of. It pleased the violent eyed man immensely.

"Well, I of course, know what _all _women want," the blonde began arrogantly, "but I am afraid that little America and I have fallen…a bit apart over the years. All I need you to do is give me some conversation topics I might bring up and use, get her opinions on certain things, so that way I can turn her into putty in my hands."

_And get her into bed with you_, Ivan thought a bit bitterly, but he didn't let the darker parts of his mind take over, as this was _exactly _what he had been hoping for. Smiling a bit frostily, Russia nodded. "_Da, _I know exactly what you mean. But let me think," he paused, pretending he needed a moment to think of something he could tell France. "Well, actually, I just remembered a little something, but I'm not sure you will believe me."

"Oh?" France perked up, apparently intrigued. "Go on then."

"_Nyet_, I'm not sure you will believe me." To pretend to struggle, it lulled the prey into a false sense of security and domination.

"_Non non_, I am sure I will believe you," the blonde said. "And in any case, what harm will it do to just tell me what it is?"

Russia adopted a thoughtful expression, as though considering France's words closely, and finding real wisdom behind them. "I guess that you are right!" he smiled brightly. "Well, I have seen and heard on occasion that America is actually _quite _fond of you."

"Really?" the blonde nations smiled pompously. "But of course! Who could resist such a stunning example of masculine perfection?"

It really proved how strong and in control Russia was of his own body for him not to start retching up all over the place, or flinching at such a statement, but as it was, he just smiled all the sweeter, in that same sickening way he had gotten used to over the years. "_Da_, I am sure," he even managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "And do you know what else?"

"What is that, _mon ami_?" France seemed completely relaxed, so very ready to eat more obvious lies and take them for truth. Perfect.

"When you speak to her, bring up all of the things that you've done in the past for her. If you list it all off, it might remind her of all of your wonderful accomplishments."

"_Oui_! She would be impressed, _non_?" the blonde stroked his goatee thoughtfully, obviously pleased.

"_Da_," Ivan nodded encouragingly. "And you know how brash _Amerika _is. Don't be afraid to really remind her. And be sure that you talk a lot about your projects and plans. Americans like plans of action."

"Yes, yes, America _does _always seem to have something going on all the time," the other nation mused.

"And don't be afraid to give her tips and advice to how she should go about her own projects," Russia slipped in when it was apparent the other was half listening. "You know, that way she can see how insightful you are?"

"It's true," the old western nation smiled charmingly. "I have seen how grateful she has always been to Japan when they are talking about designing one of their video game."

Feeding France these half truths and tidbits of easily confused or misinterpreted statements was just about the easiest thing Ivan had ever done. This was smoother and easier to guide than good vodka down the throat. Russia became so happy that his purple aura began to burn around him as all sorts of evil ideas came into the big man's mind as he listened to the Frenchman go on and on about how insightful and wonderful he really was, and that now America didn't stand a chance against his _l'amour_. Building up France's confidence really was the funniest thing to see, especially when the Russian knew how this would all end. In horrible failure.

"Is there anything else, _mon ami_?" the blathering nation asked, apparently feeling so cocky—perhaps in more ways than one—that he didn't notice the deadly aura that surrounded the bigger nation within its deadly shroud. "Any other way America might _love _for me to _love _her?" he wiggled his eyebrow.

France really needed to get his eyesight checked, because Ivan was smiling with such sick delight that it was actually quite hard to believe that anyone could miss it. Perhaps it was just because skype couldn't show or handle showing such evil? Maybe the connection was a little blurry? Whatever the case, it only helped play into Russia's hands.

Peeling his lips back to smile toothily at the other man, something Ivan never did unless he was up to something particularly terrible, he nodded once. "_Da, _one more thing. Keep in mind all of those American romance movies," his voice was inclined in just the right way that made him seem sincere and compelling, as though he surely knew what he was talking about. "Do not be afraid to lay on the romance thickly. You need to _show _love. Tell her all of those—" _corny, _"—romantic declarations of love. She'll likethat."

"Ah, and then she and I aren't so very different," France sighed contently, producing a rose out of nowhere. "This is all I needed to know. I was going to do this all, but then now I am certain that America will fall in love with me. _Honhonhon_! I cannot wait to see England's face when he realizes his precious little _L'Amérique_ will be all mine…Perhaps I should make a certain movie to send to him some time…A play: the helpless virgin French maid and the strapping young count…

"Well, I must be off. _Au revoir_!" And the screen went white.

"_Kolkolkolkolkolkolkol_!"

Shaking his head, Ivan tried to stop all of the sadistically happy things from running through his mind, but also to stop the sudden rush of disgust and anger he felt at France's last little statement. Honestly! Did he really not think of _anything _other than sex? It made Ivan a little sad. There was _so _much more to life than sex!

…There was also vodka and sunflowers and big guns and other things that Ivan couldn't think of at the moment, but he was sure were equally as fun and exciting. Whatever they were, though, Russia was certain that they were as much fun or more fun than sex. Who needed women anyway? Well, besides for the reproduction of people…and maybe cooking and stuff like that. But then again, the times were changing fast, and now there were men that did all the traditional female roles while the females did the male roles…so in the end, maybe the only reason men needed women, or vice versa, was for procreation…

But such philosophical thoughts weren't any good to Ivan, and so he stood up and stretched. He didn't have time to think about such things, and he certainly couldn't let anything distract him from working at the moment. He'd had his fun answering the skype call, now he had other business to take care of.

Walking out of his office to the president's, Ivan knocked. "President Medvedev?" he opened the door a crack and looked in.

"Russia," Medvedev looked up a bit surprised. Unlike Putin, the current president was always a little wary of his personification, apparently having found out all of the things Russia had done and was still capable of doing to his leaders with little to no regret. "Please come in."

Smiling as pleasantly as possible, the tall man shook his head slightly. "Oh no, I just wanted to inform you that I will be going to France in a week, so get me a ticket."

"W-what? Russia, you can't—"

"All right then," the large nation beamed, "Good day, sir!"

"_Rossiya_!"

But it was too late, Ivan slammed the door shut and walked back to his office, feeling pretty good with life. The only problem he had now was surviving the week before the fun began!

**oOoOoOo**

Unlike last time, Ivan had…_urged _Medvedev to buy him a first class plane ticket to France, much to Putin's anger. But in the end, Russia had gotten what he'd wanted, with only a few threats left along the way. And he was quite a bit happier when he'd landed in Paris than when he'd done so in London. And unlike Britain, France didn't have a sign to welcome him, though he was waiting for the other nation, looking quite pleased with himself. It only made the Russian smile a little bit more.

"_Privyet,_" Ivan chirped happily. "Is everyone else here?"

"_Oui, _everyone but Britain," France explained as the two nations began walking. "We'll get your luggage and then his plane should be in."

And so that's what they ended up doing. After getting Russia's bags, they had not waited a minute before it was announced that the plan from England had landed. Another five minutes later produced a very grumpy looking Englishmen. The emerald-eyed man looked ready to pick a fight with his oldest rival, but when he realized that the Russian was there, he seemed to deflate a bit. Apparently, Ivan noted, his presence tempered the two blondes need to argue for argument's sake.

"Hello, _Angleterre_," France smirked. "How was your flight?"

"Belt up, _Frog_," the shorter man snapped as he pushed past the other two nations, but said nothing else seeing as the Russian was looming behind him.

"That wasn't very nice, Britain," the blue eyes were twinkling joyfully. "And here I just wanted to inquire after your flight."

"I _said, _belt up," England glared as he grabbed his bags off of the conveyer belt. "Let's just get all this over with so I can go home again."

The three nations walked in relative silence after that, to the vehicle they would be taking them to…wherever it was France would be taking them. Unlike in England, France had only driven his own car, the other nations apparently already at the location in which France wanted them. Ivan, of course, sat in the passenger seat as the long haired man drove, and Britain sat in the back. But the smaller man didn't complain, seeing as he was facing an unwinnable argument with _Russia _after all.

They came to a stop not too long later at a touristy spot near the Eifel Tower. It was only then that Britain sat up, looking confused. "So, I hate to ask, but where exactly _are _we going? Hungary said we were all meeting in Paris, but where are we going from here?" The green eyes winced painfully. "Don't tell me it's Germany's turn."

Before France could speak, Russia decided that God indeed loved him dearly, and it was his time to strike. "_Nyet_, it isn't Germany's turn! I am not sure why Hungary didn't tell you—"

"_Russie_!" France hissed desperately.

"—but it's France's turn!" Britain's face drained of all color. "That is wonderful, _da_?"

It was a very good thing that France had parked the car, because after only a blink, England launched himself at France, a murderous gleam burning in his emerald gaze. Russia didn't try to interfere, and just watched merrily as the two blonde had an all out brawl in the tiny little French car. It was actually quite amazing the way they could get at one another in such a small space. Russia wasn't sure he had ever seen Britain fight this dirty since he had lost a rugby game to his older brother, Scotland.

At one point, somehow the door had opened, and the two great western nations tumbled out of the car. France was screaming about not getting hit in the face as he had to woo America tonight, while Britain was cursing and growling like a possessed demon pirate. It really was hysterical.

Calmly stepping out of the car, almost dwarfing the vehicle, Russia smiled on as he watched the other two nation, giggling every so often, when he heard a familiar feminine cry of, "Oh no!"

Turning around, the Slav saw the other conspirators walking towards them. Germany and Austria looked wholly disgusted while Italy and Spain looked upset with the proceedings. Japan and Canada really didn't seem all that surprised by the brawl, while Hungry looked worried that her latest scheme would get ruined.

"_Gott in Himmel_," Germany sighed. "Russia, would you just end this please?" the blonde shook his head tiredly. "I'm certain you had _something _to do with causing this in any case."

Russia's smile slipped a bit as he glared at the former Axis power. Germany was too smart for his own good. Pouting a bit, the large nation sighed. "You are no fun, _Germaniya_."

Walking towards the still bickering combatants, Russia grabbed each of them by the shoulders. He pushed France away and hugged Britain from behind, trapping his arms at this side and effectively ending the former pirate's bloody battle of revenge.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, you great bastard?" England shrieked thrashing his feet about, trying to get Russia to let him go. "Get your bloody hands off of me! I will kill that arse! How dare you!"

"_Sacré bleu_!" France exclaimed. "My beautiful face! Did he hurt it? Oh, you beast! How could you hurt me like this when I'm taking out America?"

That was the absolute wrong thing to say as it caused the small island nation to start screaming and struggling all the more, thrashing about so violently, Russia nearly lost his grip on him. Despite being uncomfortable and even annoyed with have to detain the rabid little man, Ivan did find it quite funny how Britain was so easily set off. He really was just like his brothers Scotland and Wales, and even Ireland. It was just so amusing to watch them get angry!

So, after Germany and Russia had bound and gagged Britain to keep him from screaming and hurting anyone or himself, the nations took him into the van that France had procured, while Japan and Britain had brought some of their spy equipment along to add to France's own. Meanwhile, the Frenchman was also telling everyone his wonderful plan on how he would win America's affections…which led to more violent battering from Britain.

When France left to go get ready, however, that left all of the other nations alone in a van, staring at one another awkwardly. Russia noticed that Germany seemed to have come on his own accord for once, which led the Slav to suspect that Hungary had found the right form of bribery or threat to ensure that the blonde would come. Italy seemed much happier this trip, probably because France had made them food, and the northern half of Italy didn't have to suffer any English food this trip. Spain seemed his usual chipper self, and was trying to convince Britain that things weren't so bad, even as the island couldn't speak with the gag in his mouth. Austria and Hungary looked to be in some sort of debate, the pianist probably still appalled at having to be a part of all this. Japan was working all of the controls to set up the video and Canada was sitting alone in the corner, forgotten. Overall, it was a cheery atmosphere for the usually lonely Russian.

They waited for about an hour in the increasingly small van, before Spain perked up when his cell phone buzzed. "Oi! France just picked up America!"

Everyone crowded about the screens, even those that weren't really happy to be there, and watched as the cameras were all turned on. Just so Britain didn't miss any of it, Russia pressed the blonde in the front. England _wouldn't _want to miss seeing his baby sister out on her big date, now would he? Russia giggled.

An excellently dressed France came on the screen, a rose even pinned to his coat jacket, but that's not what caught everyone's eye. Dressed in a stunning long, flowing red dress, a large slit that ran up to nearly her hip, with tall, black high heels, and a black fur coat, her hair done up in complicated twists and curls, dripping in diamonds, was America. For once, the Superpower was even wearing makeup, dark eye shadow, blush, and ruby red lipstick. She was the image of a classic beauty, and it caused more than one male nation to sit up straight when they saw her. Apparently part of France's master plan was to have America dolled up as well…

"_L'Amérique_," France purred, kissing her hand in a deceitfully gentlemanlike manner, he helped her out of the limo that had driven her to the Eifel Tower. "You look stunning, _mon petit_."

The girl herself looked thoroughly confused, like she had absolutely no idea what was going on, or why she had been made up so much, but she smiled nevertheless, especially when she saw the Tower lighting up. "Wow!" she exclaimed brightly. "I still can't believe how nice this place can look."

The male nation chuckled, before taking her hand and placing it on his arm, much to the girl's perplexity. "Why thank you, my dear. But I have another surprise for you."

"Really?" America asked, bubbling with excitement. Apparently France had lied to the girl to get her to agree to all of this, that much was certain, but Russia watched quietly with growing interest. "You mean besides the makeover, or whatever this all was? Did I win some sort of prize?" Those gullible blue eyes lit up with joy.

"_Oui_," France smiled sweetly. "You've won the night with me, for dinner on the Eifel Tower."

Even though she was in high heels, somehow America managed to bounce up and down. "Awesome!" she did a very unladylike fist pump in the air, affectively shattering the prim, proper look the girl had had before she'd opened her mouth to speak. You could take the girl out of America, but you couldn't take American out of the girl, it seemed.

As the two went to the top of the Tower, England rolled around, trying desperately to get out of his binding so that he could rescue his sister, but Canada hushed him down. "It's not like she's going to understand what this is all about anyway," he muttered under his breath, which, Russia had to agree, was probably right.

The two made it to the top, and as promised, there was a candlelit table with roses waiting for them. America rushed over and sat down before France could even attempt to pull out her seat, and she looked up with at the blonde with a beaming smile. "All righty! What we eatin'?"

The camera got a good shot of France looking slightly aghast, before he smiled charmingly at the girl. "Oh, just a little something I whipped up this afternoon before you got here. I made it especially for you, _mon petit_."

"Cool beans!" America gave the man a thumbs up before looking about expectantly. "Where is it? I'm starving!"

With the gross lack of manners and Russia's advice seeming to spring to the top of France's mind, he leaned back in his chair with a causally, cool look and certain sophistication than the American obviously lacked. "Patience, my pet, patience. Young women need to learn to wait."

For the first time since being on camera, America frowned a bit before she snorted…which was also very unladylike. "So-rry," she rolled her eyes. "So, winning this dinner surprise and the new duds is cool and all, but I don't remember entering into some sort of contest," she stared at the man across from her thoughtfully.

France smirked at this, looking completely arrogant, which made Russia smile in turn. "You do not want my hospitality or my gifts of affection?"

"That's not what I meant, I love free stuff!" America held up her hands quickly. "It's just that…well, you and I never really have hung out before…I'm a little confused, to be honest. So what's up?"

"Aww, this is it!" Hungary gushed, gripping Austria's arm so tight it looked as though the pianist might pass out from the pain. "Tell her that you love her!" she squealed.

Russia frowned at this, but knew he didn't have to worry, especially if France followed his "advice."

"Can I not rekindle our friendship?" France began, looking truly hurt and pathetic in a way which the others knew had positive effects on women. "Honestly, I just wanted to rebuild our friendship."

America, for her part, looked a little stunned, and she blinked those large blue eyes of hers, before a warm smile appeared on her face, looking so out of place when she was wearing the clothing of the cold, sophisticated type. "Really? Aww, man, that's so sweet!" she beamed. "I'm sorry I was so suspicious."

"That is quite all right, _mon petit_," the blonde flipped his hair. "I thought perhaps if I could get you here, I could win you over," he winked.

The girl didn't seem to catch on to what that actually meant, because she smiled happily without a second thought. "As long as you dish out the awesome food, I'm certainly in!"

France did seem a little put out again by the girl's apparent denseness when it came to the romantic, but he did not seem to let that shake him. He called over for the food to be served, and for a violin to play. It was a cheesy sounding love song, but whether she didn't realize what it was or she was ignoring it, America didn't even bat an eyelash at the music. The moment the food was before her, America grinned, folded her hands and practically shouted, "Grace!" before she dug into the food.

It was certainly a sight, a circus attraction all on its own. America didn't seem to know proper table etiquette as she tucked in and began stuffing food into her mouth. She didn't seem to even have a designated folk or knife hand, really, and tended to switch hands frequently. When wine was poured for her, she stared at it for a minute before taking a drink like she would of cola.

France looked horrified at this and it seemed enough was enough. "You cannot drink wine like that!" he cried, looking on the verge of fainting.

Looking up for the first time, America cocked her head to the side. "What? I just took a drink. That's what you're _supposed _to do."

"This isn't that drivel of yours from California," the other blonde snapped, not noticing the insult that slipped onto the woman's face. "This is _French_ wine. It is to be savored, not guzzled down like that filthy German beer."

In the van, Germany snorted, crossing his arms. "At least I can drink like man, sissy bastard."

"Well sorry I'm not meeting your oh-so high and fancy expectations," America rolled her eyes. "Not everyone can be as stuck up and snooty as you are."

That seemed to offend France more then he would have liked, and so the dinner lapsed into silence for several minutes before the hosting nation decided that a different approach was needed. "So, American," he slipped back into his friendly, enchanting voice. "How are you liking the food then?"

Still apparently offended, the girl pushed her food about for a minute before shrugging. "S'all right, I guess."

"You know, _mon ami_, you do look ravishing, tonight," France pushed on, not giving up. "You look good enough to eat."

A spectacular blush appeared on American's face at that moment, and Britain almost lost it. It was not often that America blushed, and again, the male nations in the van had to sit up and take notice, because it really was quite becoming on the girl's face, or at least Russia thought so. "Th-thanks?" the girl shifted a bit uncomfortably.

"You know," France leaned forward smoothly, eyes sparkling madly, suggestively. "I _am _the greatest European power."

Everyone in the van fell silent. "But I thought that was you, Germany?" Italy asked, turning and looking at his best friend, who looked about ready to start going on a murderous rampage.

"And I _am _known to be the world's greatest lover," France went on. America's blush only intensified as her eyes got wider. He took her hand in his before the girl could move them back.

Standing up, the European pulled the girl up and into his arms. America gave a cry, but France began twirling her around, and led her in dancing, the lone violin their source of music. It was painfully obvious that the girl was confused, like she didn't quite understand what was happening. But for the moment, she didn't pull away, and allowed the Frenchman to move her about in the dance.

"You really do look extravagant," France purred. "You are nearly flawless. With my help, I can make you perfect," he smirked. "You want to begin my lessons now?"

"I-I thought you wanted to be friends," America narrowed her eyes, just now coming to terms with what France was doing.

"Oh, I would _love _to be friends with you," the older nation cooed. "And what better friends could anyone be then—" he dipped her down, causing America to instinctively stick out one leg in the air to try and balance herself, looking like the perfect picture of a seductive dancing pair. "—_lovers_?"

He leaned forward to steal a kiss, eyes closed, face relaxed.

What happened next was almost a blur. One moment the two nations on the Tower were about to share a romantic kiss in the most beautiful setting, and then the next, France had a violin come crashing across his head before he was lying on the floor, holding his manhood, with tears streaming from his eyes.

As for America, she was standing over the poor man, her face red, as she grumbled under her breath. "I don't believe you," she posted her hands on her hips, looking like an angry housewife. "You just _had _to ruin a nice night, didn't you? We were having a nice time eatin' and getting' to be friends again, and you let that perverted side of yours come out.

"If we're gunna be friends for realz, you gotta control yourself," she looked disappointed. "Thanks for the prize dinner and the clothes and junk, but I think I better go. And _you _need to set your priorities in line," she frowned meaningfully at the groaning nation. "It was nice of you to try and 'reconnect,' I guess, and maybe we can spend some time together again…but I'd rather have Mattie along next time," she added meaningfully. "Um, see ya."

The van, much like it had the last time they had all attempted to do this, erupted into hysterical laughter. At last England managed to free himself, and the moment his hands were freed, he pulled down his gag and laughed harder than anyone there. "HAHAHAHA! That's what you get, _Frog_!" he pointed viciously at the screen.

Japan, smiled quietly, and once everyone settled down from their fits of laughter, the Asian nation pushed a few more buttons before turning around to face everyone, a wicked gleam in his dark eyes. "I have it all on tape."

The declaration was met with cheers and more laughter. But while the others were howling, with mirth, or trying to keep Britain in the van and not rushing out to pick up where he left off with the Frenchmen, Russia watched the screen. The camera that had been attached to America's dress was still running, and the poor girl was running from the Tower as fast as she could in such impractical shoes.

When she entered the limo, the camera that had been placed in there to film the "couple" as they went back to France's place, was on and caught America alone, breathing heavily. "Take me back to the hotel, please," she said to the driver.

England managed to get out of Canada and Spain's grasp and rushed out, forcing Germany to football tackle the island to keep him from getting away. While the others were helping the blonde, Russia remained staring at the screen at the deject form of America. The girl slumped back in her seat, sighing, rubbing her face. Seeing her like this made Russia feel…strange. He found, oddly enough, that he didn't like seeing her like this, at least not if he wasn't the one that had caused it.

Makeup smeared off in her hands as she sighed again. "Well, this was weird," she muttered as she continued to clean her face off with handkerchief that had been left behind. And silently, Russia had to agree with her.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>…not much to say. Finals are over, Christmas is over, and I got over a nasty cold. Hope you all enjoyed this.


	4. Chapter 4: Messing With Mountie Maple

**Chapter Four: Messing With Mountie Maple **

After the first two disastrous dating attempts, and considering how very dense America could be at times, Hungary had decided that drastic measures should be taken. It was decided that a spy would be required to go undercover and extract information out of America, to try and figure out what sort of man she would actually be interested in. The bashful gentleman was definitely out, as was the classic seductive lover. It appeared the conventional methods of romancing the girl were simply not going to work. And thus, Hungary had asked—with a very real threat that still made Mathew's legs feel like jelly—Canada to do the honors and snoop out what his sister liked that the other men could use when it was their turn to go out with America.

To be perfectly honest, Canada hated this competition just as much, if not more, than England. But where England had agreed to go along with this for his belief that should America find a good man, she might level out and become more ladylike, Canada agreed to do it in order watch his sister's back. Mathew might be a wallflower, but he was still pretty damn good backup. Should things get out of control, he would right there to help his sister out. No one would even notice, he thought with a snort, if he slipped out, which would be perfect…Well, Russia seemed to notice him more than anyone else did, but the large nation seemed to be having far too much fun to keep his attention on Canada for long.

So with a sigh and a bad feeling about how this would affect his relationship with his twin sister, Canada agreed. But what the others didn't know was that the clever blonde had a different agenda.

When an excuse came for him to go to America to deliver a message and meet with the president, Mathew, playing the ever obedient servant, texted Hungary that he would be going to do as she asked, before he went. After meeting with Prime Minister Harper, Matthew dressed to the nines to have a quick inspection of his Mounties, before he set out for Washington D.C. in his bright red uniform. Normally he would have changed, but he knew how much his sister loved seeing him in his uniform. It actually made Canada feel a little proud and special since his sister doted on him so.

A quick flight over the border, and soon Matthew was out and driven to the White House. While it would never be Ottawa, D.C was still a place that Canada liked to visit. It was almost a second home to him, with how often his visited America. It never ceased to bring a smile to his face, though, when the big fenced off house came into view. While the work there wasn't always pleasant, it always gave him the promise of seeing his sister, and that was certainly something to smile about…even though it was also a certainty that he would acquire a headache along the way…

Stepping out of the limo and ushered inside, Canada allowed the Americans to take him through the halls that he knew better than any of them did, before he was led to the outside of the office that they would be meeting in. It wasn't the Oval Office, but that was okay. He knew how jumpy the Americans were nowadays when it came to security…though they really shouldn't have had to worry about _him_ considering that he had been in there hundreds of times.

But who was Canada to argue with his neighboring people? Matthew had always just gone with the flow, and while his sister certainly exasperated him ninety-four percent of the time, he didn't want to cause her trouble. He had gotten that nasty streak after him _years _ago.

Seeing the American President, Matthew smiled and nodded. "President Obama," he nodded, extending his hand.

"Good to see you again, Canada," the president shook hands before motioning for the nation to sit. "You had a good flight I trust?"

"Excellent, Sir, thank you," Matthew nodded. It still amused him how Obama always winced whenever he spoke, expecting Canada to be as loud as his sister, only to relax and smile happily when a quiet voice came out instead. Poor Amelia, she just didn't understand how loud she really was…

The meeting went on well enough, and Canada took out all the documents that were to be shown and shared with the Americans before all the business was taken care of. The two sat together for a while, just chatting, enjoying the peace, or at least it seemed the president was. It was probably not often he got to speak with a nation that looked so very similar to his own that was actually _quiet_. It was probably a nice change of pace every once and a while.

But all too soon the peace shattered when the door was suddenly slammed open, and before Matthew could turn his head, he found himself in a crushing grip and on the floor, being hugged tightly after a cry of "Canada!"

Looking up, Canada saw the blonde head of his sister, still gripping onto him like a leech. "H-hell-o, America…y-your cru-shing m-my lungs…"

America let out a loud laughed, squeezed her brother tightly one more time, before standing up and helping up her victim. "Sorry 'bout that, bro," she smirked. "Look at _you_ Mr. Mountie." She whistled appreciatively, pawing at the jacket. "Man, I wish _I _had such an awesome uniform!"

In the background, the president cleared his throat warningly. "America, please don't mob our guest."

The girl turned around with a pout. "Aww! But, Boss, he's my brother! If you can't mob your brother, who can you mob?"

"Preferably no one," the human sighed, rubbing his temples. Canada knew _just _how the man felt.

"Its fine, Sir," Matthew spoke up, smiling, truly happy to see his sister. "I'm use to it."

"Can I get off a little early today?" America turned big, pleading eyes to her leader, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Please? I feel like I haven't seen Canada in _forever_!" she slumped her shoulders down dramatically, letting her arms dangle. Matthew nearly laughed at how ridiculous his sister made herself look sometimes. Though he still marveled at how she could get away with it. "_Please_?"

The human looked a little torn, but eventually sighed, standing up. "Go on, America," he shook his head, a strange mix of exasperation and fondness written on his face. "Have fun with your brother."

"Oh yeah!" America jumped up with a good fist pump, before she grabbed the president's hand, shaking it wildly. "Thanks, Boss! I'll make up my time on Monday!"

And before Matthew could have had a chance to say anything, or even give the president a proper farewell, he found himself being literally dragged out of the office and through the White House. America didn't slow down for a minute, not even when she entered her office, kicking the door in, in her excitement. "Opps," she winced. "I forgot it was locked…"

"Even if it hadn't been, it still would have broken," Matthew observed drily, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned in the doorway. "You really ought to watch your strength, sis."

As she was packing up her things, Amelia rolled her eyes, mouthing a silent "Blah blah blah blah blah" as he spoke. "Yes _mom_," she rolled her eyes, "I'll get right on that."

Canada smirked, shaking his head. And Hungary had seriously wanted to hook America up with either England or France? _Really_? That woman was more diluted than Belarus believing that she could get Russia to marry her. It just didn't seem _plausible _to the Canadian that his sister would ever fall in love with the men that were lined up to be her suitors. In fact, as he stopped to think about it, he couldn't think of a _single _man, nation or human, that would be a match for Amelia and her…odd ways.

"All right, let's go!" America practically shouted, breaking the other from his thoughts.

"Great. So what you wanna do tonight, eh? Got anything planned for us?" he asked as they walked—thank God!—from the White House this time instead of making a mad dash. Probably because America had to show tons of I.D's and passes before she was allowed out.

"I dunno," she shrugged. "I was thinking maybe a movie night? You know, just stay in and have some much needed sibling bonding time?"

Normally when Matthew came over, Amelia was all about showing him the latest craze that the Americans were all going for, whether it was dancing, going to the movies, or even bungee-jumping off the San Francisco Bridge, so it was a bit out of character for her to want to stay in and not drag her brother out to show him something "awesome." But then, Canada understood, knowing that his sister had had a busy couple of months, what with going to London and then Paris not too long ago. He knew that despite her love to traveling, there was only so much America could do before she just wanted to stay at home.

But to keep up appearances, knowing that Amelia didn't know that _he _knew what her last several months had been like, Canada asked the obvious question for cover's sake. "Eh? You don't want to go out tonight?"

Amelia shrugged, her eyes looking about as they walked towards her apartment. "Naw, not really. I've been busy lately…Oh wait!" she turned to stare at her brother with wide eyes. "I'm being selfish again, aren't I? Is it okay with you to stay in? I guess we could go out to eat and party it up if you want."

While it wasn't always noticeable to other nations, Canada knew that his sister was trying to change her attitude so that others would start liking her again. President Obama had talked about "reforms" and Amelia had taken that to heart. It actually made Matthew proud to know that his sister was taking the insinuative to change her behavior, try and get away from her predisposition to feel superior to everyone and cocky.

But at the same time, it made him a little sad. Despite how selfish she could be, loud and annoying, she was still Canada's sister, and he loved her. He didn't like to see her worry so much about what other people thought of her. It just seemed a little sad to him that she had to change the way she did because she was so scared of being hated by everyone.

"No, staying in is perfect for me," he smiled encouragingly, giving her a half hug as they walked. "Thanks for the other offer, though."

"Awesome," America looked a little relieved and proud of herself. "I was thinkin' maybe I could grill us up a couple of hamburgers and make some fries. That cool?"

"Yeah, sounds good," Matthew nodded.

And so the two siblings walked on until they reached Amelia's apartment. It wasn't anything big or showy, despite what others might have believed to be her prerogative, but it was pretty ordinary by D.C. standards, and was in a nice neighborhood, within biking distance of the White House, though America usually preferred walking. She had a car, but she was also taking the whole "Go Green" thing seriously…though she drove in the winter, seeing as she was such a baby when it came to the cold most of the time.

When they reached the door, Amelia pulled out her keys— Matthew noticed the outrageous number of key chains she had had grown since last he was here— and let them in. The apartment was pretty much the same as it always was, with just a little clutter of magazines, coke cans, and coffee mugs sitting out here and there. While America had an extreme amount of designer and decorating shows, her home didn't reflected it much. She liked to watch them sometimes, always drummed up ideas on how to rearrange the place or paint it, but in the end, she never did.

The furniture still sat in the same place it always had, and the walls were still cream, though there were pictures and movie posters that covered them. She had _all _the important ones: Indiana Jones, Star Wars from the original trilogy, Lord of the Rings, and of course, the classic Die Hard. In her office she had Terminator, Predator vs. Alien, and even Jaws. His sister was such a nerd, but he couldn't help but love her for it.

"Make yourself at home," she said, throwing her keys down on the table next to the door, as she walked up the small flight of stairs to her room. "I'm gunna change."

Matthew walking in as well, and set his suitcase down near the couch, and looked around. "Where's Tony?" he called as he started to pick up the cans and old mugs.

"Texas."

"Texas? What's he doing there?"

He could almost hear Amelia shrug. "He said something about wanting to play with the cows, or something."

There were times when Canada didn't understand his sister's taste in friends, or even his sister herself, but it was still amusing to listen to what she came up with. He was surprised, actually, that no one had come up with the idea for a show that feature Amelia, called something along the lines of "America Says the Darn'dest Things!" But then again, he understood that it could turn into a national disaster seeing as Amelia could get on a tangent and let slip important things. Russia and China would just _love _that.

After he put the mugs in the sink, America came into the kitchen, dressed in pajama pants and a tank top. "Aww, you didn't have to do that, Mattie. I was gunna do it."

"It's no problem," he waved her off. Actually, it was almost second nature for him to pick up after her…

"So," she walked in and grabbed some hamburgers out of the fridge to defrost. "What's with the Mountie Maple getup today?"

Rolling his eyes, Matthew sat down at the table as his sister started to make an early dinner. He _had _been going to help, but for that nickname, he decided to be a little bit more of a demanding of a guest. "Had a quick inspection before I left. Didn't feel like changing."

As Amelia stuck the meat into the microwave, she turned and smiled at him. "I'm glad then. I really do like that uniform," she winked. "I'm surprised you didn't ride on down on your pony, Dudley."

Canada didn't even blink. "Sorry, _Nell_, but I left Horse at home this time."

America laughed appreciatively, shaking her head fondly as she grabbed some potatoes and a bowl before sitting down to peel them. "So besides inspection, anything interesting happen to ya lately? Any great exploits had by the brave Canadian Mounties?"

Matthew shrugged. "No, not really. What about you?" he asked carefully. "Anything big happen to you?"

"No," Amelia answered immediately, as she focused on cutting. "Oh, wait, no, something did! Did you know _France _invited me over to his place the other day?"

_Yes_. "No," Matthew feigned surprise. "What did he want?"

"You'll _never _believe it!" America looked up with big eyes. "He told me to come by because I'd won something, or whatever, so I went, and then I got this _huge _makeover— you know, like they do on T.V?—and then he fed me this really awesome dinner, telling me that he wanted to 'reconnect' or something like that." She paused. "But then he got all pervy, so I kicked his ass and left."

It took everything Matthew had not to burst out laughing as he recalled the image of France rolling around on the floor of the Eifel Tower holding his family jewels. He was actually sort of glad Japan had recorded it. He'd have to watch it again when he got home. "Really?" he pitched his voice into disbelief. "That's weird."

"I know, right?" Amelia went over to the sink to rinse off the potatoes. "Has he tried to 'reconnect'—" she used air quotes this time, "—with you?"

"Sometimes," Canada shrugged. "But honestly not with something like that."

America shrugged back as she sliced the potatoes into small bits into the hot oil to make fries before she retrieved the hamburgers and started to make the patties. "Weird. Oh, you wanna hear some good news, though?"

"You know I always like good news," at last, the taller personification stood and got a plate out for his sister to put the burgers on when they done.

"Well, hold onto your hat, Mr. Mountie, but _I _got Iggy a date!" Amelia smiled proudly.

Unable to help himself this time, Canada did laugh. "What?"

"I swear!" America's smile brightened considerably. "He invited me over a month or so ago, to hang out, and then he was all like, 'I wanna date again!' and I was all like, 'No prob, Iggy! The Hero is here to help!'"

Matthew couldn't stop laughing. "J-just like that, eh?" he snickered.

"Totally!" the girl bubbled. "And it was just so awesome, 'cause I noticed this one girl was eyein' him up and down, and then he started acting all weird and left for a bit, and then the waitress came over and I started talking to her, and then bing-bam-boom, I got him a date!" she posted her hands on her hips, spatula sticking out in one hand, striking what in her mind was probably a very heroic stance.

Still snickering, Matthew shook his head and couldn't stop himself from kissing the top of his sister's head affectionately. "Well, good job then, _Hero_, I'm sure he was thrilled."

"You better believe he was, Buster Brown!" she laughed.

The two finished up the dinner preparations, and then took it out into the living room for their movie marathon to begin. Canada took off his jacket and shoes but otherwise left on his uniform. They decided that to begin with a comedy of some sort and eventually agreed on _Airplane!_ since they hadn't seen it in about fifteen or so years, and it was a sure way to make them laugh. It was a good time, laughing and just being lazy, while eating Amelia's amazing fries. Whatever anyone else said about her cooking, _no one_ could make fries like America.

After that movie was done, the sequel was next, even though they both believed it couldn't beat the original, but they still had fun with it. During the middle, however, when Amelia started doing Captain Kirk impressions after seeing William Shatner, the twins lost sight of the movie completely, and ended up making fun of actors that came to mind. When Amelia brought up Alan Rickman as Snape, however, it quickly turned to the two blondes doing impressions of England doing magic, which in turn, had led to Canada doing a rather fantastic impersonation of France.

One by one, the siblings launched into teasing their fellow nations, one after the other. They were laughing so hard they were crying, when finally America sat up after catching her breath. "Okay, okay, okay, I got a new one!" she beamed. Clearing her throat dramatically, she adopted a slightly hunched position, nervous hands, and a terrible scowl. "Big brother? Big brother? Where are you, big brother? Come out here and marry me!" Canada doubled over he was laughing so hard. "Stop being such a jerk all the time! Become one with me, big brother! You know you want to!"

Sitting up, Canada cleared his throat as well, contorting his face into pure terror. "_Nyet_! _Nyet_! Go away, go away, go away!"

That was the icing on the cake, and the two actually slipped off the couch and were on the floor, wiping the tears from their eyes. "O-oh my s-stars and stripes!" Amelia was rolling on the ground. "It hurts, Mattie! Ahahaha! I-it hurts to laugh!"

After another five minutes or so of laughing, the two sat up, leaning their backs against the couch, still sitting on the floor. Amelia crawled over to her brother and leaned on his shoulder, sighing contently. As a reflex, Canada put his arm around his sister. "This is an awesome night, Mattie," she smiled up at her brother.

Matthew smiled back. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"You know what would make it even more awesome?" she asked innocently.

The Canadian frowned in thought. "An action movie?"

"Pancakes!"

The older twin sighed in defeat. "Yeah, I should have seen that one coming," he groaned as he stood up.

"Yay!" Amelia bounced up. "I freakin' _love _your pancakes!"

The two went back into the kitchen, Matthew getting out the pancake ingredients. He knew where everything to make them by heart.

"Let's make chocolate chip ones this time!" America jumped up and down with just the right excitement that her brother knew he was doomed to do as she willed.

While the girl went back to get the dishes from their dinner and place them in the sink, Matthew began the pancakes. When Amelia sat down at the table, Matthew frowned in thought, recalling their earlier conversation. He didn't want to ask for Hungary, but at the same time, he found himself curious…

"Amelia?"

"There's more butter in the fridge," she dismissed him easily, as she looked through the silverware for forks.

"No, I know where it is. It's just…umm…" this was going to be harder than he thought. "Well, I guess I just wanted to say I'm happy England's getting out and dating again." Amelia only grunted, still focused on getting forks. "What about you?"

The girl snapped her head up, staring at her brother oddly. "What, what about me?" she frowned.

Trying to fight down the blush he knew was coming to his face, Matthew stared pointedly at the pancakes. "Have you ever thought about dating?"

Sneaking a peek out of the corner of his eye, the Canadian saw his sister blushing like crazy. She stared down at the floor for a few minutes before sitting back down at the table. "I mean…yeah, I guess I have…Doesn't everyone?"

Surprised that he actually gotten an answer, Matthew decided it would be best to tread carefully. "Well, yeah, everyone does," he tried to look as nonchalant as he could. "So?"

"So what?" she asked suspiciously.

"So what kind of man catches the fancy of the United States of America?" he tried to make his voice as light as possible.

"I don't know," she nearly shrieked, looking horrified, her face still flushed red.

"Oh come on, 'Melia!" Matthew pushed gently, smiling encouragingly. "We're brother and sister. We're _twins_. We should be able to tell each other anything." She didn't respond. Knowing that he was going to have to make some sacrifices, Canada added quietly, "I-I'll tell you, if you tell me."

At last, America perked up at this, unable to leave a secret alone, though she still looked a bit wary. "I…guess so. Okay, sure. It's just a secret between siblings, right?"

"Right," Matthew nodded with a smile, flipping another pancake. "So?"

Biting her bottom lip almost fearfully, Amelia sighed at last. "Okay, I mean, I guess when I look at guys, the first thing I notice is… size."

"Size?"

"Yeah, how tall he is, how broad he is, stuff like that," she shrugged. "Hard to really miss something like that, right?"

"Make sense," Canada nodded. When his sister paused, he realized they were going to be taking turns on this. "Oh! Right. Umm…Well, I guess I notice if she's smiling, to determine if she looks nice or not."

Seeing that her brother was really going to play along, America smiled, apparently getting excited at finding someone to confide in and get closer to. "Okay. Sweet. Next, I sort of look for a smile too. You know, see if they're happy or really grumpy or something."

Finishing up the pancakes, Canada grabbed the syrup and sat down at the table where Amelia was waiting with forks. "Well, I also kinda like a woman that's shorter than me," he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I think dating a girl taller than me would be a little bit…weird."

"Yeah, that would be weird to be taller than a guy I'd date," she mused, stuffing her mouth with pancakes. "Damn these things are awesome! Anyway, I guess I really like a guy that's smart as well as brawny, ya know? Is nice to look at, but still interesting to talk to. Ugh, you know how lame it would be to just sit around with a good looking guy that's dumber than a box of rocks?"

"I'm with you there," Matthew nodded, taking a bite of his pancakes too. "Trophy girls might be nice to look at, but I think I'd shoot myself should I ever date a valley girl, or something, that only cared about tanning or nail polish."

"So Poland's right then, huh?"

The two laughed at the joke, before they lapsed into a comfortable sort of silence as they ate. Canada's mind began reeling as he took in all this information. He was glad to see that his sister was warming up to the topic, even if her face was still a bit red, but she didn't seem to want to kill herself anymore. And if she was anything like him, it actually felt pretty good to finally tell someone about all this. It really wasn't such a big deal after all, was it?

"So, you like the Arnold Schwarzenegger type, eh?" Matthew nudged her playfully.

"No!" she laughed, taking the joke remarkable well. "While I like the Governator and all, he's…eh, he's not my type," she shrugged. "What about you? You an Angelina Jolie kinda guy?"

"Certainly not," he pretended to be horrified, though secretly he had to admit she did have a…certain appeal. "She's a little too skinny for me… so if you're not into the big, super beefy type of guys, what do you like then? Besides smart and tall?"

Amelia laughed, as she tried to relieve anxiety. She always laughed when she didn't know what else to do. "I don't know…I guess I have to admit I like the soldiering type," she said thoughtfully. "A guy that's not a total whimp when it comes to guns and stuff, ya know? Someone that's able to take care of himself." She made a face, "And not someone that would _ever _treat me like I can't take care of myself. I'm _not _a damsel in distress, and I'm not a babysitter either. If he can't keep up with me, then I don't want anything to do with him." She crossed her arms definitely.

Canada stared at his sister for a moment, actually a little stunned by how strong her convictions on this matter were. It actually came off sounding rather harsh, as she had thought of everything, it seemed. Maybe that's why she didn't want to say anything to anyone, not just because she was so shy about this sort of stuff, but because she was afraid of being teased for being picky, setting high standards.

"Wow," he whistled a bit. "That's quite a list. Anything else?"

America blushed again, before shrugging. "There's nothing wrong with having standards," she muttered. "But I don't know. Not really? I guess it's not a requirement, but it would be fun to date a guy that's not afraid of food. I love to eat, and having someone else to do it with me would be kinda neat and not be afraid of being called a glutton, or make fun of me for being fat or something…"

Matthew looked sympathetic. "You're not fat, 'Melia. You just need to consume more because of your large economy."

"Try telling that to everyone else," she snorted. "Well, enough about me. You?"

And so Canada ended up admitting that he liked sweet girls that were good cooks, not because he was sexist and believed that that's how women should all be, but because usually the sweet women were good cooks and who didn't appreciated a good meal? But he also wanted a girl that was happy, energetic, strong, but also considerate.

Once all the pancakes were consumed, and the talk of crushes was out of the way, the North American twins found themselves back into the living room, watching some zombie movie. As they watched, America laughing about how "cute" she thought one of the zombies was, Canada couldn't help but think of everything her sister said. As he did, he thought of all the candidates that were still lined up to date her.

There was the ever excitable Spain whose smile would be sure to catch anyone's eye, along with being energetic and interesting. But he was not necessarily the soldiering type, and was probably too much of a pretty boy for his sister's tastes. And with his strict Catholic background, he would probably be too much of a burden for the free-spirited Amelia, who liked to do want she wanted when she wanted. And if Spain wasn't her type, Italy certainly wasn't, for although the Italian loved to eat, nothing else matched her tastes. At all. Mediterranean didn't seem to be her thing.

There was Japan, whose love of video games and intelligence were certainly appealing to the clever inventor western nation. But then again, America had admitted to the slight shallow quality of liking men that were taller than her. And even if she could ignore that, seeing as America _loved _Japanese culture, Japan himself wasn't necessarily a gun-happy nation. He wasn't the rough and tumble type that would go hunting with her on the weekends, which would probably depress her.

The one candidate that seemed to best fit America's qualification at a glance was Germany. There was _no_ question of Germany being able to take care of himself, and he loved his guns as much as he loved his dogs and beer. He didn't seem to be the type that would be attracted to any weaknesses, so a strong woman such as America would be cream of the crop, for both sides. He was strong and he was tall. He was also quite intelligent and was just as much of an inventor as America herself.

There was a great benefit, Canada found, at not being noticed all the time. It gave him a chance to observe, to truly watch people interact with one another, and come to solid conclusions about their characters. So while Germany and America looked to make for a good pair, despite the minor flaws the man had when it came to smiling, the truth of the matter was that while Amelia might be able to look over what Germany might lack, in truth, it seemed as though America wasn't _Germany's _type.

Yes, the blonde European admired strength, loved animals as much as America, and even respected a good fighter, but the truth was, that there were other qualities of America that appeared unforgiveable for someone like Germany. First of all, Germany was frugal and hated spending money if he didn't have to, so getting caught up with Amelia, who was all about the glammer and glitz and like to buy just about anything that caught her eye, that was not something the blonde man would be pleased with. Amelia also tended to be loud all the time and laugh too often and smile too much, making her appear to be a bit of an airhead at times. Again, that was something Germany didn't seem to want to be connected with…though why he still hung around Veneziano was anyone's guess.

No, even if Germany was someone that America had her eyes set on, there was no way it would work. That, and Canada got the feeling that they just didn't seem…right together, all the logic set aside. They would make great friends, but a couple? That didn't seem right. Especially as Germany was used to giving orders and having them followed while America would resent the very notion of being bossed around like that, and with Germany's short temper…Well, it wouldn't last long if it ever occurred.

The only man left to contemplate, however, was Russia. It didn't take a smart man to figure out that such a match up for Amelia would only lead to disaster. The two Cold War rivals? A couple? That was as ridiculous as daring France to shave his head and expecting him to actually do it. There was just _no_ plausible way that those two could _ever _be anything other than peacefully tense, coexisting powers.

Sure, Russia was certainly tall, and while he wasn't built like a bodybuilder with his slightly pudgy stomach, he certainly wasn't in bad shape; it just showed he liked to eat. And while there was no question of if he liked guns and fighting, and no one doubted his ability to take care of himself, Russia was still a dominating force, someone that America would constantly be butting heads with for superiority. It was common fact that Russia liked his women like he liked it vodka, strong and kicking, but there _were _limits, and handing over America to him like that would be like putting two pit-bulls together and turning your back to them. And there was the fact that the Slav was batshit crazy! All the evil manipulation he had pulled during the Cold War had left Amelia stressing and freaking out for years to come.

No, Amelia F. Jones and Ivan Braginsky were certainly not compatible on _any _level. If it ever got to be Russia's turn for a date, America would probably turn him down the instant he invited her over. That, or she would go to keep up diplomatic niceties, but insist on having someone else with her, hardly a good bases for a dating scene.

And there was the fact that Russia had only gotten into this plan because he happened to stumble upon it and overhear what they were all doing. Now the icy bastard was probably just in this to laugh at Amelia and the others. That thought infuriated the Canadian more than anyone could know. Well, if that hoser tried _anything _tricky_, _Matthew wasn't afraid of him. He'd take him down if he evereven considered hurting his sister.

When the screen started flashing with the credits, Matthew looked down at his sleepy looking sister, who was leaning against his arm, having apparently gotten bored somewhere along the way. How many times had she seen this movie?

"I'm gunna change into my P.J's," Canada stood up to excuse himself.

"'Kay," Amelia muttered, leaning back onto the couch back.

When he returned, the northern brother found his sister passed out, her mouth hanging open slightly, face lax. He smiled as he grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her. As gently as he could, he pushed her down so she could lay comfortably and not strain her neck. Kissing her on top of her head, Matthew couldn't help the surge of protection he felt over her. "Night, 'Melia. Sweet dreams."

The girl only cuddled down into the covers in response, leaving Matthew to make his way to the guestroom for the night. As he laid down, the usually timid nation had to smile. It really _had _been a great night. And that being as it was, he resolved to _never _tell any of his sister's secrets to the others. He would even redirect them purposefully if he had to. He didn't like this competition and he wasn't going to let anyone hurt his baby sister. If they did, they'd have to face _him_.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Canada = Love~ He's such a great brother, isn't he?

Well, this is the result of me up all night, violently ill again, and to try and stop myself from retching up more than I did, I tried to think of story ideas, and so I decided to give you all a present and update AGAIN. Isn't that nice of me?

Drop me a review if you could, last chapter too, if you didn't already. Thanks everyone! You're the best. ^^


	5. Chapter 5: Too Hot in Barcelona

**Chapter Five: Too Hot in Barcelona**

Months went by since the time they had all been together in Paris, and Russia found himself growing increasingly bored and restless. Although he wasn't sure why, he was getting progressively anxious to learn what it was Canada had found out about America since his little "spy" excursion—though it wasn't as though Ivan was going to take the mousy nation at his word. Over the last several months, since agreeing to this competition, the large nation came to realize, even more so, that Canada was not necessarily a nation to be trusted explicitly. Sure, the boy went along with things, didn't speak up much, but from the sarcastic remarks he'd make throughout conversations, or with a roll of his eyes, Russia knew that there was something about that blonde that he needed to be careful about.

The Russian's agitation and impatience for the next excursion became so bad that those around him began to suffer the consequences. One day, when in a meeting with his prime minister and president, Ivan decided to conduct an experiment, and stared at one of the new secretaries without blinking, just to see what the woman would do. It had been rather humorous to see her begin to sweat and look back at him, before averting her eyes when she realized he wasn't breaking his gaze. She would never look into his eyes he noticed, but she began squirming and eventually turned her focus solely on her notes.

From out of the corner of his eye, Russia could tell Putin and Medvedev were getting angry and confused respectively, but he didn't let that ruin his concentration. Meanwhile, the woman kept her head down, her face pale, as she tried her best to scribble down all that was being said in her notes. She lasted nearly the entire meeting before she suddenly fell out of her chair, crying, before she looked up at her nation, screaming, "What do you want? What do you want me to do?"

Several other women in the meeting had to escort her out to calm her down, as she kept muttering terrified, "He's marked me! He's marked me and I'm next!"

Smiling, Ivan had felt pretty good about himself. He still had it. He still was quite powerful, enough to influence those around him with only a look. While it was a little sad, knowing that he _was _feared this much, to an extent, it was amusing. He hadn't even had to say a single word. Really, did they honestly think he was going to kill them? This wasn't the 1950's. He was completely over all that _gulag _stuff…mostly. It still did give him nightmares sometimes.

But any amusement had dissipated quickly, not only from his leaders angry demands to know what he had been doing to the woman, or from any guilt that he felt, seeing as he didn't really feel all that guilty since he had just been playing. What bothered Ivan was the fact that the woman had been _too _easy to freak out. Humans were so frail, mentally and physically. They couldn't last long in his games, even when they were simple, nonviolent types of games. It was sad. He needed to be in the company of other nations again. Beings that, well they didn't understand _him _personally, but knew enough about him—at least in theory—to be able to withstand any thing he might throw at them.

"_Rossiya_!" Putin hissed, coming to stand before the big nation, looking positively livid. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" he demanded.

"I was listening to the meeting," the personification defended innocently. "Is it really my fault that your new secretary obviously can't handle such an important government position?"

"You were staring at her the whole meeting," Medvedev sighed, apparently not in the mood to argue with his nation. Though, Ivan noted drily, the president never really was. Putin was more of the fighter.

Frowning slightly, Russia cocked his head to the side, as if confused. "So, I am getting in trouble because I was sitting quietly, listening to the meeting, while it just so happened that my eyes were directed in the secretary's direction?" He shook his head sadly as he stood. "That is not very fair. You're both very cruel."

"You didn't even blink," Putin growled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Ivan smiled sweetly. "I was listening very hard."

"Russia!"

"Okay, thanks for the information!" the nation smiled brightly at his leaders. "I'll be in my office."

"Russia! Wait, you can't just walk out of here like—!"

But it was too late. Ivan slammed the door behind him as he wandered through the building back to his office. Really, not even his leaders were up for a good fight. They always said the same thing nowadays. "Russia, don't do this!" "Russia, don't do that!" "Russia, that kills people!" Well, Ivan was sick of it. He needed change, he needed excitement. He _needed _America!

Yes, Russia admitted it, at least to himself. He needed America. He didn't care if he got her by going to Washington D.C. to start a brawl or if he had to be contented with flying to whichever country was next in Hungary's game to see the younger nation make a fool out of the next contestant. At least America gave him some amount of entertainment, some joy in his still rather new, boring humdrum life.

Entering into his office, Ivan slammed the door shut behind him. Despite the smile that stubbornly refused to slip from his face, the Slav was actually feeling a little down. He had been having so much fun lately with the other conspirators these past months so that now with little contact from any of them, it had been surprisingly depressing. He didn't like being alone, and just when it seemed that everyone was getting to be friends with him— "friends," a term he used liberally, meaning that they tolerated his presence surprisingly well—they seemed to have all fallen off the face of the earth.

What if they had decided to go on with the game without him? The thought saddened Ivan more than he would admit. Maybe that's why they hadn't really been talking to him lately. Maybe they had all just moved on. Maybe America was, at this moment, the proud girlfriend to one of the other nations?

That thought angered Ivan, it disgusted him. America wouldn't date any of those other guys, she was too complicated for them. None of them would understand her needs, her randomness that more often confused the hell out of everyone and consumed her life. No one could _tolerate _her! She wasn't an appropriate match for any of them! She was simply not dating material for any of the remaining nations, nor had she been for either Britain or France.

But what if one of the others had gotten through to her? Tricked her by using Canada's advice on how to woo his sister? What if she was sitting somewhere romantic with another nation right now? Kissing him, loving him, believing he was something he just wasn't? America was smart though, she would see straight through them…wouldn't she? She was also, unfortunately, quite vain at times, and maybe they had flattered her just right? France, at times, had charmed America enough to get her to agree to stay longer than she probably would have otherwise.

If all this was true, then where did that leave Ivan? He would no longer be a conspirator, which meant that had missed everyone's dates with America, and missed his own. He would never get the once in a life time chance to go out with her and humiliate her so closely now! That wasn't at all fair! It came as a bit of a surprise to the Slav that he found himself very much wanting his own chance to take his former rival out. He hadn't in the beginning, but that was before the others had cast him out of the group! Now he very _much _wanted to, if just to show them that he _could _go out on a date, prove them all wrong, and at the same time, get America good, humiliate her more than he ever had before. Then maybe things would go back to how they used to be, before the Cold War had ended, and their fighting had been more or less harmless, more like pranks and competitions. That had been fun for Ivan. He liked those times and wanted to go back to that, so that he would have more of a chance to speak with her on a weekly basis and not be alone.

An idea struck the Russian at that moment, and he couldn't help the evil smile that came to his lips. Well, if he would never get his chance, then he would at least make sure that whoever won America's hand would not last long either. He didn't even need to get out his pipe for this one. All he had to do was _tell _America that her would-be lover had been playing with her, that it had all been a game. Then all he had to do was sit back and watch the fireworks. America would not be at all pleased and would likely take her anger and hurt out in a violent sort of fashion against the winner, as well as the rest of the conspirators. _That _would be hilarious!

But what if the others told her that _he _had been in on it too?

Oh well. Ivan decided that that would be the best. She would come storming in on him and he would get his fight with her. The blonde girl had always been a real delight to wrestle with, especially since she didn't break after just one punch. No, America seemed to be made of sterner stuff then the rest of the nations Ivan had come across. She knew how to take a punch and turn around and deliver one back just as hard or harder. _That _was what made her so much fun, what made her different. She didn't shy away from him, didn't let him push her around, and that was why Ivan found her interesting.

A bit nervously, Russia logged into his skype account to see if anyone had tried to call him since he had been at his meeting. It had become a nervous habit he'd developed recently. Before he did anything drastic, he needed to make sure that he really was out of the group before he destroyed it utterly and completely to watch it burn in delight. Feeling better, the large nation realized he would win either way, no matter what the other nations decided.

The first thing that Ivan saw as the skype account logged him in, was that he had a friend request. Shocked, the Slav clicked on it and stared for a long time. The profile picture—which he realized he still needed to find one for himself— was of an American flag that looked like it was blowing in the wind. The screen name was "Stars-and-Stripes1776". Clicking the name, it showed that the new person that wanted to add him was located in Washington D.C, U.S.A, and the only other information shared was the banner, which read in all caps, _"I'M DA HERO! :D "_

It didn't take an idiot to figure out who this was, so Ivan looked at the message that accompanied the request, feeling a little nervous for some reason. It read:

"_Hey Big Guy! This is A.F.J, aka The Hero! If you're who I think you are, that being one И.Б. you should totally add me as a friend! Conference calls will be way more fun this way! ;D Ok, well, ttyl Big Guy! ADD ME!" _

Ivan stared at the message for a long moment, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, and he couldn't help but reach over to get a sip of water that sat on his desk, his mouth having gone dry. America had really found him on skype and wanted to add him as a friend? How had she known he had gotten an account? Had someone told her that he had? Or more startlingly, had she been _looking _for him?

Whatever it ended up being, the Russian decided he couldn't worry about that at the moment since he had the dilemma of wondering if he should indeed add America or reject her request. On the one hand, Ivan found himself happy that she had thought enough of him to want to be "friends" with him on this blasted cite, and it would make him feel rather good to see his number of friends go up. _And _since America had obviously sought him out, that meant that she really was over her Cold War grudge against him and was on her way to liking him. But on the other hand, Russia wasn't sure he _should _add her. There still were a lot of Cold War tensions between them, and they certainly didn't see eye to eye politically. Maybe she was just being nice and diplomatic with this? If that was the case, Ivan wasn't really that interested in her pathetic, new age style of negotiating, trying to win him over using technology like this to pity him. Though conference calls _would, _admittedly, be more fun…

Before he knew what he truly wanted to do, Ivan found that his hand had decided for him, and he was now friends with America. He swallowed hard before deciding that he should write something back to her. But it seemed that he wouldn't get the chance as almost as soon as he was looking to see how he could write back to her, a conversation bubble popped up.

"_Is this Russia?"_ it read.

Feeling a wave of panic flood through him, his heart beating wildly in his chest, Ivan responded slowly. _"_Da_."_

"_Sweet!"_ another line popped up. _"It's America."_

"_I know that."_

"_Cool! So, what's up?"_

Frowning, Ivan fretted with what to answer back and feeling stupid for it. _"Got done with a meeting."_

"_Aww, that's no fun! Long meeting? Those suck."_

Why on earth was she making small talk with him over the internet? If she had something to tell him, why didn't she just send him an official e-mail, or even call? Was she just doing this to torment him? But looking at his clock, Russia was suddenly struck by a strange detail.

"Amerika_, it is three in the morning where you are."_

It took a bit longer for a reply to come back, but finally, all he got was a, _"Yup" _as though she was feeling a little guilty.

"_Why are you up so late?" _

"_Working on a big presentation for later today."_

Russia didn't notice the smile that spread over his face as he shook his head. _"Been putting it off ? You really shouldn't be so lazy, _Amerika_."_

To this, he got a message back impossibly fast. _"I'm not lazy, jerk! DX I'm just making sure it's extra awesome."_

Ivan chuckled. _"If you say so. But if that is the case, should you not be giving it your full attention instead of talking to me?"_

There was another pause, one in which the Slav could just see the blonde chewing her lip thoughtfully, trying to make up her mind on how best to describe her thought process. It was always interesting to see how the girl would try to make up for her erratic ideas. She was just so odd.

"_Well, you see—" _Ivan settled in more comfortably in his chair, knowing that if America started off like this, it was bound to be good. _"— I _was _working and making probably the most amazing presentation slide show in the whole universe, but now I'm so very close to being done and decided I needed a little break after adding in the music."_

"_You added in music for a presentation for work?" _Ivan wasn't sure if he should feel sad for the young nation's leaders or disgusted with how little she seemed to regard her work…though Ivan wasn't much better lately. In the end, he settled on being amused.

"_Well, DUH! It would be hella boring without it. I know I always fall asleep in those darn'd meetings." _There was a slight pause before a new message came. _"So, what you doing now? It's eleven there, right? You getting ready for lunch?"_

"Nyet_, I still have an hour… Though you should probably go to sleep now. Music is not so important."_ He chided wisely.

"_I know…but I can't sleep."_

Leaning forward, resting his chin in his hand, Russia frowned slightly. America really wasn't the type to get nervous before speaking in public. She _loved _speaking in public. Or rather, she just loved speaking. Maybe this really was a big presentation. If so, why was she talking to him again?

"_Why can't you sleep?" _he opted to ask instead.

There was another long pause. _"I…sortta ate too much ice cream before working on this ^/^" …I can't sleep now. Sugar rush."_

A laugh escaped Ivan before he could think better of it. How adorable! She had obviously put off her work, had decided to stay up all night, eaten lots of sugar to help her stay awake, and then in the end, had finished early, so decided to add in music and talk to someone just to keep herself entertained. She really could be charmingly dim at times, so very childish.

"_You need to sleep," _he told her, still chuckling.

"_Yeah, I guess…Hey! Before I do, I have a question."_

"_What would that be?" _

"_What kind of name is '_Rossiyskaya-Federatsiya1991_'?"_

Ivan frowned in confusion. _"That's who I am."_

"_Lame. You should have come up with a cooler skype name. Like mine!" _

"_It's better than most," _Russia typed defensively. Really, who was America to tell him what sort of name he should have for _his _account? She really was pushy. At least his wasn't as stupid as Hungary's!

"_You should totally get a new account and new name! I know! You can be 'Komrade Kol'! How awesome would that be?"_

"Nyet_." _Ivan felt his eye twitch a bit.

"_Ok, how about 'Red Russian'? You know, like the drink!"_

"Nyet_." _What was she getting at with that one?

"_I know! 'Sunflower Slav'! You like Sunflowers, right? HAHAHA! Cute~" _

Was she _trying _to be as insulting as possible, or was she really just that clueless and didn't understand that he was getting a bit ticked off? _"Good night, _Amerika_."_

"_Ok ok ok, wait! Sorry, I was just having fun…We still cool?"_

Why did this girl have to be so utterly confusing? One moment she's being normal, or as normal as America could manage, and the next she was being completely annoying and a bit insulting, and then just before Ivan could really get furious with her, she apologized, asking if they were "still cool". To be frank, Ivan had absolutely no idea where he put America in his book. They weren't enemies anymore, but they weren't friends, just on skype. How was he to classify her? They were certainly more than acquaintances, but he wasn't sure where exactly that put her.

After another moment of trying to decide what they were on a larger, more profound scale, Russia gave up. _"Yes. We are cool."_

"_Awesome! Ok, well I should sleep. Try not to die in your meetings! :DD Bye!"_

And just as suddenly as she had started the conversation, America was gone. Logged off completely. Trying to understand the complexities of the western nation's mind was not just exasperating, it was impossible. Ivan was certain that if that A.D.D. illness people kept talking about nowadays existed, that America had it in spades. Either that or she was insane. If she was insane, then Ivan wondered why then when he had had his bout of that illness he hadn't acted more like her. But then, insanity came in all sorts of forms, didn't it?

He was prepared to log off as well, almost forgetting why he had even gotten on in the first place, when a new message popped up. It was from Hungary.

"_Meet in Spain next Friday."_

Smiling to himself, Ivan closed off of his account. Well, maybe he wasn't out of the game after all. And after talking to America today, he decided that perhaps an insane America mixed with a chipper Spaniard would be loads more fun than staring down a secretary.

**oOoOoOo**

Finding himself once more in a van crammed full of nations, Ivan smiled as he and Japan once again sat at the controls of the spy equipment. Britain was looking extremely putout, having lost the argument of working the computers to Russia who had gently_… persuaded _the other into letting him sit in the command seat once more. France was next to the island nation, still a bit stiff, his pride not having healed from his own date with America, though there was a sparkle in his eye knowing that his friend was about to make a move on the girl. Italy was sitting in the back while Hungary was brushing his hair, and Austria and Germany were in the passenger and driver's seat respectively, looking just as annoyed as they normally did.

Spain had told them all where to meet at along the beach and to wait for him there. Unlike France and Britain, who had opted to take America out on a simple luncheon/ dinner date, Spain had decided that since America was an energetic young woman, she needed to have a little fun before she could be properly romanced. So, the Spaniard had decided that America needed to spend a little time at the beach, playing ball, maybe building sandcastles, before they would spend a romantic dinner together.

It all seemed quite logical really, Ivan had to give the Mediterranean nation credit, but the Russian knew that at the end of the day, America's heart would not be given away. How could it? America and beaches was a recipe for inviting disaster. Especially if it included touchy Spaniards. Poor little Puritan America would be beside herself should Spain decide to drink a little too much and decide that he was affectionate. It made Russia grin just thinking about the reaction the girl would have.

Once again in the corner near Britain and France, Canada sat looking tired and a bit displeased. The boy was so quiet that Russia nearly forgot about him. He wondered what sorts of things the Canadian had told Spain to prepare him on his date today. Would that former British colony be giving all the men advice before they tried to win his sister over? And again, Ivan wondered just how much of that information they could all put real stock into.

"_Ve_, I wish we could go out and play in the sand," Italy mused, looking rather sad. "It's hot, and I want to play in the water!"

"We'll play later," Hungary said gently, looking for a way that she could put the boy's hair up in pigtails. "Right now we can't be seen."

"But why?" the Italian whined.

"Because we can't be seen by America, _Dummkopf_," Germany growled, a nasty scowl on his face.

"But _why_?" Italy pressed, apparently truly not understanding.

Everyone was a little cranky, Ivan noted, because of the heat, and since they were all sitting in a van, it didn't help matters any. But it was Japan that spoke up, his voice a cool and calm as always. "If _Amerika-san _saw us, _Itaria-san, _she might discover our contest and put an end to it."

"But then I wouldn't get my turn!" Italy sat up, looking dismayed at the very notion, while Hungary sighed in frustration as her work on his hair was ruined.

In the front, Austria sighed. "I'm surrounded by idiots."

"I say that if this date fails early, we all go out and cool off in the water," France said, fanning himself, his shirt almost completely unbuttoned.

"I hate to agree," England started, looking as though he truly were in pain at being caught concurring with the long haired nation, "but that sounds like a brilliant idea to me. A day at the beach sounds lovely."

"Oh good," Germany drawled, turning around to give a nasty smirk at the island. "I've brought my towel."

Ivan had always noticed that when everyone else seemed to be miserably, that's when Germany seemed at his most cynical. It didn't surprise the Russian, seeing as the blonde had been raised by Prussia, the queen of cynical humor, and since the Slav shared such humor, he didn't mind it, but he did have to wonder how the blonde managed to keep all his friends. Austria and Hungary didn't appear to be the kind to appreciate it, Japan was too polite to find any real humor in it, and such things were simply over Italy's head. Other nations that might appreciate it the blonde simply didn't hang around them much.

"Bloody Germany," Britain muttered under his breath as he crossed his arms moodily. "Thinks he's so witty doesn't he?"

"Careful, _mon ami_," France hissed a whisper. "Don't mess with him. He knew about the markets, after all!"

Ivan nearly burst out laughing. Western nations really were so amusing. They were all so paranoid of each other all the time when they really had nothing to fear. Not that Russia wasn't paranoid—far from it!— but at least his fears were a little more concrete.

"Look! There they are!" Hungary sat up, nearly stepping on Italy to get close to the camera screen. "Aww, look how adorable they are!"

True enough, there was America and Spain on the screen, setting up their spot on the beach. Spain was wearing normal red swimming trunks, apparently forgoing the Speedo since it would more than likely deter America. America herself was in nothing other than a stars and stripes bikini that matched her American flag towel. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail that looked a little ridiculous to Ivan considering her hair was pretty short, but it was passable, he supposed.

"You ready for some fun?" Spain asked, smiling charmingly.

They had managed, with new technology, to fit a microphone behind Spain's ear, and had similarly fashioned one in a hair clip that America was wearing, Britain having given it to her as a "thank you" for hooking him up on a date. Despite how suspicious that sounded, America had eaten it up, too thrilled to think twice about her old brother's motives. Cameras were hidden in beach umbrellas stationed all around as well as a volleyball poll.

"Sure am!" America beamed, grabbing some suntan lotion and slathering it on. "Thanks a bunch again for inviting me out! This is really awesome of you! We never hang out much."

"Hehe, no we don't," Spain shrugged. "But we can start now, yes? Hey, you want me to get your back for you?"

"Okay," America turned around, allowing the Spaniard to rub lotion on her back.

In the van, France whistled. "Oh, he's good. Rubbing up on her already. I should have thought to take her to the beach."

"It was too cold when you had your turn, and I bloody well wouldn't have let you!" Britain shouted, standing up.

"Calm down," Canada muttered, grabbing England's arm. "His turn's past, remember?"

Russia watched, his smile dimming, as Spain rubbed lotion on America's back, shoulder, and back of her legs with growing uneasiness. Was this all Spain was going to do? Feeling America up like this? Granted, the man was probably a genius for figuring out a way to touch her while in little clothing without her getting angry or freaking out, but Ivan had found out a long time ago he got more thrill out of actually doing things then watching them, so he became a little bored, if not angry.

"All righty!" America announced once she finished the other areas herself. "You wanna go play in the water with the beach ball?"

"Whatever you want," the tanned nation grinned happily at his guest before the two set off into the water.

Hungary looked quite pleased with the proceeding, informing everyone every couple of minutes that she believed she'd seen a spark pass between the two, much to the men's annoyance. But Ivan tried to ignore her the best he could and just watch America. The video shots weren't as good this time since the cameras were farther away from their targets, but he could tell that America was smiling. She looked truly happy to be splashing about and having a good time. Eventually the ball was forgotten, and the two nations were simply splashing the other.

As time went on, it became apparent that Spain was trying out his moves on her, taking her by the hand out of the water and towards their umbrella. They sat together a moment, out of the sun, chuckling. "That was fun," America sighed happily, laying down flat.

Spain nodded eagerly. "_Sí, sí _it was! I'm so glad you're enjoying yourself." There was a pause and before anyone could offer the Spaniard advice, he was on it. "You know, you look really amazing in that bikini, _América_. You have a wonderful body."

The girl sat up instantly, a blush spreading across her face, as she stared at the other nation for a moment, a look of panicked horror flittering across her features. She proceeded to wrap her arms around her middle, looking a bit self-conscience before smiling weakly. "Uh…thanks."

"No, no, I mean it!" Spain pressed, smiling encouragingly. "You are a very beautiful woman. You should show yourself off more often. I've noticed that you always seem to wear those big blouses and that huge coat of yours recently."

While it was actually quite humorous and adorable to see America like this, Russia wondered if Spain remembered that he was on a date and not just talking fashion with a friend. He seemed so casual and friendly, and yet, Ivan could tell he was interested with the girl before him. It seemed that America truly had maintained a remarkable figure over the years, and all the fat jokes had been just that, jokes. But Ivan knew that the jokes had gotten a bit out of hand, so much so that most people believed they were true. America included. No wonder she wore her jacket and other various men's clothing at times, to hide her figure away. It was a pity.

But with her like she was now, in that little bikini of hers, no one would dare tease her about being fat now. She was simply stunning, Russia realized, and once more he had to commend Spain on his brilliance of inviting her over to go swimming.

"Th-thanks," the girl's blush spread, making it look like she had a rather nasty sunburn. "Can we, um, do something else now? I mean besides talking? I mean! It's not that I don't want to talk to you, but maybe we could do something else? You know, something more active?"

"_Honhonhon!_" France sat up, moving closer to the screen. Like his friend, Spain smiled just a little bit more, becoming, for the first time, a little more seductive.

Without warning, he put a hand on America's thigh, much to Britain and America's horror, smiling charmingly. "More active?" he leaned closer to the fire engine red girl. "_Sí_, I can be _much _more active if you'd like."

"I-I-I…I d-didn't mean—" America sputtered.

Spain laughed lightly, releasing America, apparently realizing he was pushing a little bit too hard, while still maintaining a cool, happy façade. "You're face is so red," he teased lightly. "You're like a little tomato. Haha, aww, _tomatita~_"

America began laughing a bit uneasily as well, apparently deciding that Spain had just been joking around with her. "Haha, y-yeah. I'm, um, gunna go get our ball back so we can play some more."

In the van, France crossed his arms, shaking his head with a fond smile. "Not bad, not bad. Tony is a genius, is he not? He is not as good as me, obviously, but I must say, he set up better circumstances for America. Good for him!"

"I swear, if he tries anything else like that, I'm gutting him," England growled. It was interesting, for Ivan to note, that Japan wore a similar expression to the green-eyed nation.

But as everyone watched the girl make her way towards the water, in the corner of the screen, Ivan noticed something. He had to do a double-take, but once he realized what it was, he couldn't help the smile that curled his lips. In the front, Germany snorted, apparently having caught sight of the same thing Russia had. _This will be fun_! The Slav thought pleasantly.

America all but ran from Spain to the water line where the ball had been blown. She looked a little worried, but also determined to have a good time. As she started to turn around, ball in hand, her blue eyes widened as a troop of girls ran by. It would not have been so very abnormal, considering that Spain could hardly book the whole beach for himself, but what America seemed to realize and focus on in the utmost revulsion was that the girls that ran past her were topless.

It was comical, really, how America backed away from them, as if they had the plague. Her big eyes darted left and right, and her mouth hung open as she discovered, for the first time it seemed, that there were several other topless women around, men in Speedos too. She looked about ready to start hyperventilating, when she turned her head slightly, to look back out in the water, after someone seemed to have caught her eye.

It was an old man, his skin looking to have tanned probably more than what was healthy. His white hair stood out starkly again his skin, and he was surprisingly well built for an older man. But America's burning red face went instantly pale as she watched him rise out of the Mediterranean, flipping his hair a bit like something described in a romance novel, as naked as the day he was born. Ivan held his breath.

After America hadn't come back and remained frozen in place, Spain walked over to his date, placing a hand on her shoulder, looking concerned. "America?" he asked gently.

Ivan decided that it was a good thing he had learned to go without blinking for long amounts of time, because what happened next took place in only a matter of seconds. America turned to stare at Spain with absolutely horrified eyes, her face as white as snow. She squealed several high pitched noises incoherently, waving her arms around, before she took off running, pushing past the other nation and all the people around her, and grabbed her towel and her sandals. She sprinted off the beach in a dead run and was gone before Spain even realized what had happened.

Canada looked torn between running after his sister and staying to make sure Britain didn't go running after her, while the others in the van sigh sadly. "What is with Americans and nudity in public like this?" France mused out loud. "I just…don't get it."

While Spain was running back to his spot on the beach, grabbing his own sandals and trying in vain to rush after America, Ivan couldn't help but smile. Well, that was three down. Only three more to go before it was _his _turn.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Seeing nude old men rise up out of the sea…oh yeah, believe me, that gives a person nightmares. I know, it happened to me while I was in Spain. . I was horrified, my grandmother…well, let's just say she tells people that the beach in Barcelona was one of the _highlights _of her time there. *shudders* Seriously, it was weird. We didn't even _go _to a nude beach, the people just decided to be nude anyway, I guess…

The big thing with Germany and Britain with the towels is, of course, reference to the Towel Wars. The _gulags _were of course, the Russian prison camps, camps in which criminals, prisoners of war—whether they were German prisoners of war, or Russians that HAD been prisoners of war, sadly—political prisoners, and basically anyone that ticked off the Communists went.

Okay, any other thoughts? Concerns? Questions? Drop me a review if you would, I'd love to hear from you all! Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6: Roman Holiday

**Chapter Six: Roman Holiday**

While Barcelona had been chalked up as probably the worst disaster thus far, Ivan couldn't help but laugh every time he thought about America's horrified face when she had seen that old man. Like the other dates, America's freak-out had been recorded and spread throughout the conspirators to enjoy. That pale, disgusted face she made had become Russia's new background on his laptop. It was just so cute the way her lip curled up in revulsion, mouth hanging open, and eyes wide while her hair had started to come out of the ponytail and hung limply around her face. But while that picture was nice, Ivan had to admit that he had also kept a few of the girl from earlier that day when she had been happily running around in her skimpy little swimsuit. He could use those for some sort of blackmail later, he was sure.

It had only been a week since then, but already it was time for another World Meeting. It seemed like just yesterday they had last been all together, when this whole little operation of theirs had been formed. Ivan was quite pleased to be getting away again, his leaders not having been happy with him the last several months, but he didn't really care. Leaders came and went, but seeing America like this was once in several hundred years. This operation was more important.

The meeting was being held in Mexico this time, and already Ivan decided that was probably not the best of ideas. Why did they always pick cold, northern nations in the winter told hold the meetings at when it was at its worst, and hot, southern nations in the summer? The heat in Mexico was sweltering, and for the nation that was used to snow nine months out of the year, this was too much. It was over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit and not at all pleasant when wandering out of doors. But, despite the nearly suffocating heat, which some nations didn't even seem to blink at, Russia was happy that the nations had all gathered together again so that he had an excuse to see America and her foolishness.

The meeting today hadn't lasted very long, and the nations had simply had more of a quick word than anything too serious. Throughout the meeting, Ivan had kept an eye on America. Unlike his secretary, the blonde nation didn't seem to give him a second thought and didn't even bother to look his way. Instead, she had stared at Mexico as he went through his presentation. She seemed rather excited, why, it was anyone's guess, but once it was time to end for the day, America had stood up quickly, nearly knocking over her seat, and threw her arms up in the air with a loud, "_Finally_! It's taco time!"

Next to her, Canada looked exasperated, if not outright embarrassed, and Mexico sighed, running a hand over his face. Rumor had it that the blonde had pestered her southern neighbor into taking her to a special restaurant to get a certain kind of taco that she was obviously crazy about. To keep the peace, Canada decided to tag along, but before he left with the other two North American nations, he gave a meaningful look at Hungary. When more people had gotten up to go, the European woman acted quickly, gathering up the conspirators like a mother hen would her chicks.

"Okay," Hungary began once they were all collected. "So, the date in Spain went…not so well."

"It wasn't _my _fault!" the Spaniard insisted, dismayed and looking truly sad. "I took her to a non-nudist beach…though I suppose the visitors sort of changed that..."

"It's all right, Spain," Hungary put on a consoling hand on his shoulder. "Your date had been going really well up until then. America seemed to really respond to the Mediterranean scene, minus the nudist. So, I think next date should be Italy."

"_Ve, _me?" Veneziano cocked his head to the side, pointing to himself. "Yay, that's happy! I will take her to get the most wonderful food in the whole world!" he beamed, looking almost drunk with joy. "It will be lots more tasty than that yucky English food she's had so far."

Next to Japan, England snorted, looking highly insulted. "Please, anyone can make that drivel _you _call food. It takes a special kind of person to truly understand and appreciate the delicate English cuisine."

On the other side of Japan, France looked blasé as he stared at the European island flatly. "Now, when you say 'special' you mean 'tasteless', right?"

"Why you bloody frog! You better belt up or I will kick your as—"

"_Würdet ihr beide jetzt einfach mal die Klappe halten_?"Germany growled, making sure to keep his voice down so he wouldn't draw attention. "Right now we have bigger problems than your old grudges."

"Problems?" Spain frowned in confusion. "We were just talking about Italy taking America out."

The large blonde crossed his arms severely. "That's just the point," he drawled. "The one that didn't understand why he couldn't go out on the beach or why he couldn't show America the 'funny video' of her kicking France in the balls? Do you see anything wrong with this? I do."

Hungary gasped. "You're right! Veneziano!" she grabbed the Italian by the shoulders and started shaking him. "When you ask America out or when you're on your date, you _cannot _tell her about us! You can't tell her about the competition!"

"Ah! O-okay, okay!" Italy cried. "I-I won't say anything! I don't want to get anyone into trouble!"

"_Itaria-san,_" Japan spoke up seriously. "You will need to make sure that you do not say _anything _about us. You should also make sure that when you take her out to be polite and do not talk about any of her other dates. You shouldn't know about them, remember?"

"But I _do _know about them," Italy scratched his head thoughtfully.

Sighing, the group began walking to go grab something for lunch. On the way, Germany grabbed the little Italian's upper arm roughly before dragging him away. "Come on. You need some training."

"_V-ve_? Training? For what?" Veneziano whined. "I don't _want_ to train!"

"You're training and you're going to like it!" the blue eyed nation hissed. "We're going to think of the best way to ask America out and then practice conversation topics so that you don't let this slip. Because if you do, do you know how much backlash _I'll _get from my leaders? After what Maria did last week with that pony and sauerkraut, I can't afford to get blamed for anything else."

Russia chuckled lightly. He'd _have _to find out about that later. Although it hadn't been mentioned, Ivan was sure enough to bet his nationhood that beer had also been involved in this recent incident concerning the Prussian. But he knew he couldn't think long on this gossip as the others were walking away to have Italy practice his conversation as well as grab something to eat. Unlike the others, he hadn't had time to put his papers away before Hungary had seized him to talk about who would be next. So, Russia went back to his seat and quickly put away all of his things. He went to catch up to the others when he heard a phone go off.

Looking about, the Slav saw Germany's suit coat left draping over his chair. He must have forgotten to grab it when Hungary had gotten him. Walking over to it, Ivan pulled out the cell phone and checked the I.D. It read: O_sten_.

Unaware of the evil smile that sweetened his features, Ivan flipped open the phone. "Hello, can I help you?"

There was a long pause on the other end, as it seemed the ex-nation had been taken completely by surprise at a different voice answering her brother-nation's phone. "West?" came a tentative voice, the eastern German seeming to have thought perhaps she had dialed the wrong number.

Ivan giggled. "_Nyet_. This is _Rossiya_ answering for _Germaniya. _May I ask who is calling?"

It didn't take a second before the albino on the other end exploded. "_Russland_ you filthy bastard! Why the hell do you have West's phone? What the hell did you do to him?" she demanded. "I swear, if you hurt him, I will come over there and kick my boot so far up your ass, you'll be licking it!"

Growing bored of the tirade, Russia yawned. "I am sorry _Vostochnaya Germaniya,_ but I need to go. I should go help Germany since he's trying to figure out the best way to ask America out." He smirked wickedly.

"_WAS?_" the albino shrieked. "West would never…he doesn't…He…"

"I need to go!" Ivan chirped. "Goodbye!"

"RUSSIA! Don't you _dare_—"

Russia hung up the phone and shoved it right back into the pocket. Throwing the coat over his arm, the large country easily found the other nations still deep in conversation with the Italian. When he came back, the others stared at him for a moment. "You forgot your jacket, Germany," Russia smiled kindly, handing it over. "I think your phone went off."

Not a second after he said this, Prussia had dialed right back. Pulling out his phone, Germany answered it tiredly. "_Hallo_?... East? Yes, I'm fine… What? No, nothing bad's happened…East…East, I can't talk right now, okay? I'm in the middle of something. I'll tell you about it when I get back…East…No, I'll talk _later_. I need to go now…I just can't talk now!... Okay, goodbye."

The others looked at Germany expectantly, but he didn't answer. Instead, he calmly put his phone away, face blank, before he turned to Russia. "Thank you, _Russland_," he nodded. "I didn't realize I'd left it."

"Oh, you are very welcome," Ivan beamed, trying hard not to snicker.

Japan gave him a stern glare, but the larger nation ignored it in favor of watching Italy practice with Hungary. Austria proved to be a very competent "buzzer" of sorts, always pointing out when the Italian failed, while Britain, France, and Spain were telling him good topics he might try. Germany had gone strangely silent, staring rather pointedly at nothing across the room. He apparently was not too happy with his latest conversation with the albino waiting for him back at his house.

Soon enough, after eating, they heard the telltale signs of America's return. Her laughter bounced off the walls and seemed to fill the building, like she was everywhere at once. The conspirators all stood up and looked around the corner to where they saw her walking in between Mexico and Canada, beaming happily, laughing, a taco in one hand and a drink in the other. The other two next to her looked worn out, though they were both wearing slight smiles.

"I freakin' _love _your tacos, dude!" the girl exclaimed in Mexico's ear. "Seriously, they're the best."

"I'd hope so," Mexico snorted, mainly to cover up his pleasure at the compliment.

Deciding that it was his time to shine, Italy walked from around the corner and right towards the three North American nations. "_Ciao_, America!" Veneziano greeted with a wave.

America's smile showed all of her many white teeth when she saw the Italian. "Hi Italy!"

Seeming to sense that he had lost the girl's attention, Mexico nodded over at the two siblings next to him, watching with faint amusement as America stuffed the remaining chunk of taco into her mouth before Italy got to them. "I think I need to go check up on everyone else now. I'll see you two later."

"Bye, Mexico. Thanks for showing us to the restaurant," Canada smiled, grabbing his sister's shoulder, as though to remind her that she was still with Mexico even though Italy had made an appearance.

Turning around, wiping her mouth with her hand quickly before she turned to her southern neighbor, America smiled. "Yeah, thanks, Mex!" she leaned down to give a big hug to the shorter nation, taking him by surprise. Ivan frowned. "Your food's awesome. See ya!"

The black haired nation shook his head smiling. "_Eres loca_. See you."

America just laughed in response as Mexico left with a last wave. When Italy was before them, the blonde twins turned their full attention to the European, Canada apparently worried that Italy had gotten off his leash and was coming to talk to America when he shouldn't. Russia was a bit impressed when he understood just how much damage control the usually timid-looking nation was willing to do. It made Ivan realize how much more he was going to have to watch Canada in the future.

"What's up?" America asked, taking a slurp of her drink.

Although Veneziano was not considered the brightest bulb in the pack, he was quite charming and good with the ladies. Oh sure, he might be spineless in war, afraid of strong winds, and was absolutely terrified of several food combinations— Germany had told them all a story once of Italy having nightmares about bangers and mash coming to life and, living up to their name, beating him up until he resembled mashed potatoes—but he was really a fantastic romantic, and had successfully flirted and hooked up with girls all around the world. It didn't matter if they were taller or shorter than him, if they were Asian or South American, black or white or anything in between, if you gave him a pretty girl, he could successfully beguile them.

The conspirators waited with baited breath and listened attentively to the conversation, all of them trying to appear as though they were just talking about business incase America came around the corner.

"Oh, nothing much," Italy smiled. "I heard from big brother Spain that you went over to his house last week. Sorry it didn't go well."

America cocked her head to the side, pouting slightly in confusion. "What? Why didn't it go well? I had a great time! We played on the beach all afternoon before he took me back to my hotel."

Italy wasn't the only one to be taken back by America's answer. They were all quite perplexed while Veneziano seemed to try valiantly to recover himself, but he couldn't. "_Ve_?"

Luckily, while America was slurping at her drink again, Canada provided translator. "Amelia's decided to repress that memory," he explained calmly.

"I sure did!" America beamed, giving a thumbs up. "So, besides asking me about my wonderful time in Spain, did you need anything, Italy?"

"W-well," Italy tried to pull up another brilliant smile before he continued. "I was just wondering, since big brother Spain had had you over, if you wanted to come to my place for some dinner?"

The blonde began bouncing a bit on the balls of her feet. "Really? That would be awesome!" she cried. "Wait. Why? Not that I wouldn't love to go, but first Arty, then France, then Spain, and now you. Did I miss something here? Is it International Be Awesome To America Year, or something?" Everyone held their breath. "But no matter what, my answer's yes, because your food kicks ass."

While Italy looked close to panic at America's insightfulness, Canada was once again the one to save the day. "Well, your president wanted you to start working on your foreign relations," he touched her shoulder, drawling her attention away from the flabbergasted Italian. "And don't forget that you've been working on your attitude, Amelia. Seems people have started to take notice," he praised gently.

"And big brother Spain told me about how much fun you were and I thought that maybe I should invite you over too. It's been a while since you last came," Veneziano interjected smoothly, having finally recovered.

Blue eyes widened a bit and the Superpower grinned enthusiastically. "Really? You've noticed?"

"_Sí_," he nodded quickly with a captivating smile.

"Awesome!" America cheered. "Okay, yeah, now I'm going, like, ten times more than I was a second ago. Where you wanna meet at?"

And so, details were given, and it had been agreed that they would meet in Rome in three days time, and she should dress for the Mediterranean heat. When the date was made, the other nations listening in all turned and quickly dispersed, knowing that the North Americans were probably coming their way. But Russia remained where he was. He wasn't sure why, but he had the uncontrollable urge to go talk to the girl. It had only been a week since last he had seen her, but he was surprisingly curious as to see how she would act in front of him in person as opposed to skype.

When Italy had gone, Russia came around the corner where the North Americans were beginning to walk again. "_Privyet, Amerika. Kanada_," Ivan nodded to them.

Canada frowned seeing the large nation coming towards them but America gave a big smile. "Hey there Big Guy!" she called. "What are you doing here, wandering around all alone?"

Again, realizing that she was communicating with him set the Russian's usually steel nerves on edge. He hadn't felt this jumpy around her since discussing nuclear power in Europe in the 1950s. He attributed this to the fact that he really hadn't planned out anything particular to say to her, so he wracked his mind to think of a topic. "I was thinking of our conversation the other day." He blurted out the first thing that came to him.

America looked positively giddy. "You think of a new screen name? Because I was fond of 'Komrade Kol'. I think that one was a keeper," she winked. Canada looked horrified at his sister's impudence. "You can use that if you want, I don't mind."

"_Nyet_." Ivan's face went blank. Her little jabs made it easier to remember the past and not be so nervous anymore. "I was thinking about what you suggested, about the conference calls?"

"Oh!" the girl nodded. "Yeah, you really wanna do that? 'Cause I think it would be fun."

"_Da_, it would be," Russia's smile widened when he saw how troubled Canada looked. "I was wondering if perhaps you might like to schedule an appointment? Whenever you're free, of course."

"Sure thing! But I couldn't tell you now," America frowned in thought. "I don't have my planner on me. But can I let you know tomorrow? Or maybe later tonight?"

Just as Ivan was about to answer, thrilled with his results, claw-like hands came from behind him and latched on. A wave of cold dread settled in the pit of the Slav's stomach and he involuntary let out a cry of absolute terror. The twins looked startled, taking a step back, and hot breath came from behind Ivan's ear, hissing, "Back off! He's mine!"

Canada went pale at the sight of Belarus, but America screwed up her courage and took a step forward to regain the ground she'd lost. "Cool it, Needles, we were just talking. No need to get your panties in a twist," she glared.

Russia gulped as his sister's grip on him tightened and he heard a distinct growl emit from her. "My panties are _not _in a twist, but if they were they and everything else belong to Big Brother, so get away from him!" Belarus spat.

The twins, Ivan barely noticed due to his extreme fear, wore matching expression of surprised disgust. "Well," America regained some of her composure slowly. "That's probably the most disturbing thing I've heard all day…We'll just be leaving then."

"Good!" Natalia sneered. "Because Big Brother is coming with me. He doesn't want to be around a loudmouthed twit like you anymore. He loves _me!_"

If he had a gun with one shot, Ivan would not have wasted a moment putting it to his temple and shooting himself in the face without a second thought. He was embarrassed and he wasn't sure he could live with it. Even though Natalia was right and America _was_ a loudmouthed twit at times, it was still embarrassing that she had so little tact and told it to the Superpower's face. And there was the fact that he was always self-conscious when others saw just how spineless he was when his little sister was around. He must look like the biggest coward in the world. Good thing he'd brought his pipe, just in case anyone saw this and decided to comment on it later.

But whatever America thought of him at the moment, it was hidden by anger and insult that entered into her usually clear blue eyes. Canada also seemed to realize his sister's temper rising and tried to reach out to take her hand. The blonde would not have it though, and step forward again, as though accepting a challenge.

"He's not your dog, he can do whatever he wants," she sniffed indignantly at the other girl. "And as for his love for you? Well, whatever helps you sleep at night. I'll see you later, Big Guy," she turned to look at Russia, outright ignoring Belarus. "I'll find you later tonight," she winked exaggeratedly at him, which didn't fail to get a rise out of Natalia, as the European tightened her grip on him until Ivan was sure it drew blood. But he couldn't help how his heart leapt when America winked at him. It made his heart feel warm.

"See ya, Crazy," America flipped her hair at Belarus, walking away, as though she hadn't a care in the world. Canada, looking shocked, stumbled after his sister who seemed to have an obvious death wish.

When the blondes were out of sight, Natalia finally released her death grip on Ivan, but didn't let go of his hand. When they were alone, the younger nation scowled up at him, and Russia swore her dark blue eyes turned black. "What was that, _Vialiki Brat_?" she asked with frightening calm.

"N-n-nothing, _Syestra_," Ivan stammered. "We w-were just p-planning a meeting."

Those soulless eyes didn't leave Russia's face for a second as they burned into his flesh, leaving him feeling weak and petrified. "Is that _all_?"

"_Da! Da _of course! W-What else would I be talking to _Amerika _about?"

Natalia stared at him a moment longer before she seemed satisfied enough with his answer. Still scowling horribly, however, she dragged him away, saying that it was time for another "talk" and Ivan could do nothing but follow. He hoped that Ukraine would realize that their sister was gone and come looking for her, or else he knew that he was in for at least several hours of torture in an attempt to make him commit and marry. But in that time, he thought, he could always distract himself with the pleasure that America had promised to find him later that night.

**oOoOoOo**

Three days passed since Russia's nearly fatal encounter with his little sister, and it saw him sitting in Rome. Because Spain was back in the group, most of the nations in the van seemed in higher spirits than when they had been in Barcelona. The Spaniard was happily bouncing in his seat—probably excited that when this was over he could see his precious _Romantito _again—which brightened Hungary and France's outlook on events. And since France was distracted with his friend, that left Britain free from too much harassment, and with Hungary satisfied, that made Austria calmer. Japan and Canada were about the same as always, though Japan seemed a little nervous for whatever reason. It was only Germany who was in an outright foul mood.

Spain, good man that he was, had tried to ask the blonde what was wrong, but Germany had only snapped that it wasn't his problem. Eventually, at Hungary's prying, the strong economic nation admitted that a certain albino was causing him a bit of trouble, and Russia could clearly see the worry in those icy blue eyes. It made the Slav wonder if it could be _anyway _connected to what he had told the former nation on the phone the other day, but he didn't ask. While Germany could be an all right sort of fellow, Russia still outright hated the former Teuton and all the trouble she had caused him early on in his history, and even in the First and Second World Wars. She was not so very pleasant and he didn't care two _rouble_ about her.

But the general atmosphere of the van was a good one since Germany brooded silently to himself, and everyone seemed anxious to know just how this date would turn out. The other ones had been so dismal that it was the general assumption that nothing could possibly be worse than any of the others. Unlike Britain, Italy was more comfortable and knowledgeable about romancing, he was more subtle and considerate than France's more direct course of action, and unlike Spain, there wasn't a beach around the restaurant he was taking America to, so there would be no nudists. This date just _had _to be better than all the others.

Italy, by some miracle, had convinced Romano to help him with his date, and had gotten the older Italian to actually agree to cook and serve the meal. How the ditsy Veneziano had managed that feat, no one knew, but they all suspect it had taken a lot of graveling and pleading and crying and bribing. But in the end, whatever it had taken, Romano agreed, so there was someone else there to help Veneziano's chances of winning America's heart. Ivan, personally, thought it was cheating, but he kept his mouth shut. He was the _last _person that could complain about that considering he had helped mess up both France and Britain's dates already.

Soon enough, the time came and America arrived at the small summer house Veneziano had rented for a more intimate meal. Today she was wearing a long sundress and had sunglasses resting on top of her hair with that little strand she affectionately called Nantucket poking up. She had a small backpack with her that suggested she had arrived earlier and had been out sightseeing before arriving for her dinner date. She looked bright eyed and bushy tailed for her dinner, and was smiling merrily. Seeing her like that, looking so very content, made Ivan stare. She certainly smiled more these days.

"America!" Italy cried once he saw his date. He rushed over and kissed her cheeks in quick succession before she could protest. "How are you?"

She seemed to understand that kissing like this was common in many places in Europe…but she still seemed comfortable with it, though she plastered on a smile. "Hey, Veneziano! Thanks for inviting me!"

They sat down at their candle lit table, and not a moment later, a frowning Romano stormed over, wearing a classic chef's jacket and hat. "_Buona sera_," he greeted pleasantly enough. There _was _a pretty girl before him after all. "I am your chef for this evening. What would you care to drink?"

In the van, Spain was nearly beside himself, gushing with obvious affection. "Oh, _chiquito!_" he cooed. "Look how very polite and grownup he's acting!" he pointed excitedly at the screen. "I taught him these manners! I did! I did that!"

"_Oui, oui_, now sit down," France muttered, shoving his friend back down so that they could watch the proceedings.

America, as she was so very prone to do, ruined the fancy atmosphere that the Italians were attempting to create as she waved at her waiter. "Hey, Romano! How are you? Aren't you going to join us?"

Looking at the girl coolly, Romano had apparently learned of the blonde's lack of sophistication, and merely shook his head. "No, not this evening. What would you like to drink?" he asked again, turning an annoyed glare his brother's way.

"The Barolo, '97, please," Veneziano chimed in before America could protest. France and Spain, as well as Austria, hummed in appreciation for the selection, all muttering a "good choice" under their breaths.

Apparently agreeing with the others, Romano nodded too, before he disappeared to retrieve the wine, ordered and prepare the meal, leaving America and the younger Italian alone. The moment Romano was gone, the blonde turned towards her date, frowning slightly. "Why isn't Romano joining? Doesn't he want to eat with us too?"

"Tell her that he wanted to see if America liked his cooking as well as yours," Hungary hastily spoke into the microphone.

Laughing lightly, Italy did just that, repeating Hungary's words smoothly, impressing everyone. "He told me that if you were coming, then you probably wanted the best, so he wanted to cook," Veneziano added.

It was clear that America still found the situation quite strange, but she didn't comment further. Instead, she talked about her sightseeing that afternoon and how beautiful Italy really was, which, of course, pleased the older personification greatly. Romano came back up and poured the Barolo and setting out bread before disappearing back into the kitchen, informing them that he would be out soon with their dinner.

Once the older brother was gone, Veneziano turned towards his dinner date, and began his Italian charm. "I'm glad you came, America," Italy smiled gently. "It's nice to see a lovely lady such as yourself, in a lovely place like this."

Either because she didn't realize he was flirting or she didn't take him seriously, America laughed and grabbed some bread, taking a bite. "Haha, yeah, it's nice being here. So, what sorts of new cars have you been making?"

All thoughts of romance went out of silly little Veneziano's head at the mention of cars, and soon he was talking excitedly to America about all of the races and new designs that he and Romano had been thinking up. America had, in turn, tried to bring up something about her NASCAR, but the Italian snubbed any talk of it, saying that it was nothing compared to the races there in Italy. The blonde, Ivan could tell, was quite insulted, though unfortunately for Veneziano, he didn't seem to realize that he had made the American mad.

None of the Europeans, in fact, seemed to catch the girl's annoyance, not even the usually observant Germany. But that was probably because he wasn't really paying attention, still looking a bit lost in thought as he stared out the front of the car instead of watching his friend make a grave mistake. Canada caught on, and Japan seemed to sense something was not going right, but no one else did. Russia knew America was truly proud of her NASCAR, enough that the slight insult left her a bit putout. Hadn't she just had a movie out about a talking race car fighting with an Italian car? Veneziano really should watch what he said.

Romano came out with the food shortly after, whispering right over his brother's hidden microphone, to inform the younger man that he had several business calls he had to take care of and he would be back in several minutes. And so with food in front of them, America seemed to forget her anger for the time being and dug into her pasta.

"Oh _man_," she sighed happily. "This stuff is so _good_! You Italians sure are amazing cooks! You should send more of your people over to my place again. That wave of Italian immigrants was awesome!"

Italy laughed more for the fact that it was polite to believe your date was funny or witty than actually finding any amusement with what she said. "I will see what I can do," he winked. "So," he went on carefully, "I was wondering if we could get together like this more often?"

Oh, he was good. Unlike the others, he was already planning for more dates. If America accepted, that could possibly mean that Italy had won, or at least would have a better chance than the others when it was their turns. While Italy wasn't the best at planning in war, when it came to dating, he could out-plan even a German, with a higher success rates than people getting their tonsils out.

America didn't pause in her feeding frenzy, but nodded all the same. No one was sure if she even heard Veneziano's request as she took up her wine and drank. She hummed in delight before looking at her date blankly. "I'm sorry, what?" But before Italy could repeat, her eyes brightened as something else occurred to her. "Oh hey! What are we doing after dinner? Are you going to take me around the city?" she asked. "I know I've been to Rome, but it's just so beautiful and old!"

As ever tenacious in love as his older brothers, Veneziano was not deterred by America's lapse of focus, and instead smiled brightly at her. "If that is what you want," he told her easily. "A romantic stroll through Rome is always a good idea."

Again, America didn't seem to take her date all that seriously, and laughed. "Haha, yeah, just like in the brochures, huh?" she winked.

Now Italy seemed to be getting a little disheartened, but before he could speak, the sound of car door could be heard slamming outside, and suddenly seven well dressed, well armed men came crashing through the door, pointing their guns at the two dinning nations. "All right, get on the floor!" one man yelled.

Everyone one was surprised, Veneziano, America, as well as the nations in the van. Even Germany's attention was caught by the sudden appearance of the men. "_V-ve?_" Italy stuttered before he was forcibly pushed onto the ground by one of the men.

The obvious leader of the band took one look at America and a charming smile adorned his features. "Well _buona sera_, _bella donna_," he purred. America scowled darkly. "Please don't be alarmed," he went on. "We're just here to do a little business, so if you wouldn't mind getting on the floor so that we can—"

The sound of a gun locking stopped the man midsentence, and the other men in the room stopped their surveillance to turn and found their leader frozen in place as America pointed an M&P9L compact 9mm handgun under the man's chin, her blue eyes hard and her expression bored. A truly deadly combination if Russia ever saw one.

"I suggest," she began, her voice hard like steel, all childishness and playfulness gone, as she glared at the men around her coldly, "if you don't want your buddy here in a bunch of pieces, that you lower your weapons, let me and my companion here go, and we'll all be on our way. If you don't, well, hope you brought a mop because I sure as hell ain't cleaning him up after."

There was a long silence, as the mafia members and America stared off, the girl having the leader's arms behind his back and a gun to his throat. Veneziano looked horrified, like he didn't know whether he should speak up, or let his date continue to bluff. Everyone in the van was about to get up and go help if they weren't frozen in their seats, when the back door slammed open.

Everyone jumped and turned to see an absolutely livid Romano storm forward. "What the hell do you think you're doing here, bastards?" he snarled.

"_S-Signore _Romano!" one man called out, looking horribly confused with what was happening.

"_Chigi!_" Romano growled, grabbed two of the men and shoving them towards the back. "I _told _you not to come here, morons!" he hissed. "Veneziano, get off the floor, you idiot," he barked.

"I-is he _Signore _Veneziano?" another man asked, looking a little sick that he had shoved the northern personification down.

"'Is he _Signore _Veneziono'—of course he is, idiot!" Romano rolled his eyes. "Now, all of you, get the hell out of here! Out the back door! Go to where I _told _you to go before! Bastards. I ought to shoot you all in the knees," he muttered.

America, for her part, blinked several times, uncertainty written on her face, though she did not release her hostage. "So wait a sec, these are your men? You know about these guys?"

"Unfortunately. _Chigi_," Romano groaned. "My mafia's not what it used to be."

"Oh." America released the leader with a hard shove that sent him tripping and stumbling into the back, before smiling at Romano. "Haha, well that's a relief! For a minute there, I thought they were terrorists or something."

The older Italian looked the blonde up and down, apparently believing that she was crazy, before adopting a more neutral expression. "Yeah, well, with the way these idiots were acting, they probably couldn't have even made an information transfer."

"Yeah, the branch in my place hasn't been doing so hot lately either," America admitted before lifting up her dress a bit and re-holstering her gun onto the inside of her thigh.

Romano seemed to appreciate the show of leg, but frowned after a moment. "You keep a pistol like that on you all the time?"

America threw back her head and laughed. "I don't walk like a man without a reason," she winked.

For once, the older Italian seemed to loosen up again, and smiled at the girl. "Well, sorry for ruining your date with Veneziano."

"That's okay," America waved off, as Veneziano finally managed to stand, still looking a bit shocked at the sudden appearance of mafia members. "We were just eating and catching up. Nothing big."

"_V-Ve_, but I—" Italy tried, but his brother cut him off.

"You _weren't _on a date with my brother? I mean, a romantic date?" he questioned sharply, turning and glowering at his brother.

Once more, America laughed. "No way! Veneziano just invited me over to dinner 'cause we haven't talked a whole lot lately."

Romano frowned, obviously realizing that his brother hadn't made his intentions very clear, before shrugging. "Well, that's good, I guess. You better get going though. If those bastards came here—like I distinctly told them _not _to do— then more might come later. You should get back to your hotel."

"Okay," the blonde accepted, grabbing her bag. "But can I have a to-go box? Your food is just _way _too wonderful to waste."

This seemed to please the southern half immensely while the northern was devastated. "B-but we never got—"

"As you wish, _bella donna_," Romano grinned flirtatiously. "I'll go grab it and then take you home. Veneziano," the older brother snapped. "Time to pay back your promise. You stay here and tell anymore idiots that show up here to go to the _other _point. If it's the police," he paused as he looked around the slightly upset room, "tell them you tripped or something."

"But—!"

"Night, Veneziano!" America rushed over and hugged the younger man tightly. "Thanks for the great night! Maybe we can catch up again without a mafia bust in."

And before Italy could complain again, Romano ushered America out through the back to pick up some pasta and go, leaving the northern half alone and very befuddled. Russia burst out laughing. He was laughing so hard, he wasn't sure he would be able to stop this time. Of all the weird things to have had happen on a date, having the mafia come and then have your brother steal the girl? What were the odds?

"Oh dear," Hungary put a hand to her lips. "I think he's going to cry! I need to go to him!" she said before quickly exiting the van to go comfort the still shaken Veneziano, Austria running after her.

Spain looked to be in shock as he stared at the screen, horrified. "L-Lovi in league with men like that?" he questioned, turning to France as if the other nation could make it not so. "I did not teach my baby brother that!" he screeched. "My poor Romano is running with a bad crowd!"

Hearing this only made Russia laugh harder. Japan was shaking his head, while Canada was once again trying to keep Britain down. "I can't believe she carries a firearm wherever she goes!" he screeched. "After all of those lessons I gave her on how to be a lady, and she carried a _gun_!"

Ivan decided not to point out that he himself carried a weapon with him at all times—his pipe was quite dear to him—and that he was quite sure Germany carried something at all times, but refrained from saying anything. It would only cause the Englishman a heart attack.

With the events of yet another disastrous date concluded, all the personifications went back to their hotel. The events of the evening greatly amused Russia, and he believed that this was probably the best date yet. So when he went to bed that night, he was quite relaxed and happy.

That night, he dreamt of a beautiful blonde with a six shooter at her hip.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>My goat had a baby today! Huzzah!

Okay, well, I was listening to Tchaikovsky's _Capriccio Italien_ op. 49_ and decided to give another update~ And when I saw a picture of Romano holding a Franchi in one of Papa Himaruya's drawings last month, I just _knew _from that moment on that I had to get a mafia!Romano in one of my works, so here he is. I find him very appealing~

**Germany: "**Würdet ihr beide jetzt einfach mal die Klappe halten?"- (like) would you two shut up now?

** Thanks NoName! I really wish I could reply to your TOTALLY awesome review!

**Russian**: Восточная Германия (Vostochnaya Germaniya)- East Germany. Сестра (syestra)- sister.

Any Russians or anyone that speaks Russian, correct me if I'm wrong here, please. Thanks. ^^

**Belarusian**: вялікі брат (vialiki brat)- big brother (***_brat_ is pronounced like br-ah-t, like in the German _bratwurst_. It is **not **the English 'brat', as in a spoiled child)

This was quite a long chapter, wasn't it? Next one probably won't be so very long. Thanks for all the reviews and fav's and all everyone! I really enjoy hearing from you! :) Please keep this author's mind well fed with nice, tasty reviews. Thank you! :D


	7. Chapter 7: Slumber Party Fail

**Chapter Seven: Slumber Party Fail**

After each fail of the four dates America had been on thus far, Hungary decided that it was time to take things in her own hands. She'd had Canada question America about what she looked for in romance, and had in turn questioned Canada, but nothing he told her seemed to help anyone with their dates. It didn't make sense. Canada had specifically told her that his sister adored the southern, romantic European men, that she loved the spicy romances, though she was too shy to admit it to anyone. So why hadn't she gotten back with Spain after running away from that old proudly nude man? If she was interested in Spain, wouldn't she have tried to get back with him, try to reschedule another date? And what about Veneziano…or Romano, for that matter? America hadn't communicated with either Italian since the mafia incident that she knew of.

_Someone _had been wrong about America find the Mediterranean nations attractive. Hungary was positive that she had not misunderstand Canada when he had given his report, but if that were the case, then that meant that he had either gotten mixed up himself or lied to her. He didn't seem the kind of man to lie. Maybe America had lied to him, too embarrassed to admit what she really liked in a man? But then why would she lie to her own brother? It's not like Canada would ever tell anyone—well, he would her because that was the whole point of his covert operation, but he wouldn't tell anyone else about his sister's fancies!

But the first four contestants were gone now and there were three more to go. Hungary had spoken to Canada several days ago and asked what else his sister found appealing when it came to the opposite sex. He had told her that his sister really enjoyed a man that liked video games. That led the woman to believe that perhaps Japan should go next, seeing as the island nation was the only real candidate that knew as much, if not more, about video games than America. And that would be good because she had also learned that America, surprisingly, liked a man that would keep her tamed, and Japan could certainly do that. _She must really be more old fashioned then I thought! _Hungary mused.

Despite what Canada was telling her, however, Hungary had witnessed America and her behavior on the dates, and recently, the brunette had come to the conclusion that there was only one man in the contest that could ever hope to win over America's affections. America might _think _she liked some other types, but Hungary just _knew _that the blonde was the kind of girl that liked the strong, manly type, and Germany was just that type.

But this was all speculation on her part. She didn't know for sure. So, she decided that a new plan to get to know America would have to be enacted. It was time for drastic measures. Sitting in Austria's living room, Elizabeta turned towards her ex-husband, who was playing his piano, and frowned in thought, when an idea came to her.

"Roderich," she called from the couch.

With an irritated sigh, the brunette paused in his music, to look back at his guest. "_Ja_, Elizabeta, what is it?"

"I'm throwing a party here in a couple of days," she informed him crisply. "I want you to start clearing your schedule and help me get ready for it."

"What?" the pianist stood and stared at the woman across room from him incredulously. "Lizzie, I have important things to do this week! I cannot afford to have guests over now. And why can't you have _your _guests over at _your _house?" he demanded, placing his hand on his hips.

"Don't be so cheap, Roderich," Hungary waved off the Austrian's concern. "I'll provide all the food and whatnot, but we're having the party here. Your house is so much bigger than mine. I'll need the space for all of my guests."

"It's not just a matter of expense," Austria scowled disapprovingly. "This is about you being rude enough to decide on having a party here in _my _house without even giving me the courtesy to accept or decline on my own, or even giving me enough time to _think _about having guests over."

It might not have seemed like it to most people, but Hungary knew Austria better than anyone, and she knew from the answer he'd just given that he was already starting to cave in his resolve. Unlike his cousins in the north, Roderich was a bit more easily swayed, and Elizabeta had found that all she had to do was bat her eyelashes the right way, and in the end, she would get what she wanted out of him. Though, she had to note dryly, this did not extend to his political life or she would have been a free nation a _long _time ago.

"Please, Roderich," she stood up, pouting, making her way over to the fuming Austrian. "Won't you _please _let me have my friends over? It will just be for the night, and they'll be gone by the afternoon the next day. _Bitte_?" Austria was always a sucker for her accented German and had admitted once that he found it cute.

Amethyst eyes bespoke of his ever crumbling resolve, and Hungary kept her pout in place as walked over to her ex-husband and cuddled up against his side, wrapping herself around him, laying her head on his chest, as she looked up at him pathetically. "_Bitte_?"

Sighing, sounding both disgusted with her actions as well as at himself, Roderich readjusted his glasses agitatedly. "Well, who are you even going to be inviting over?"

_Gotcha! _"Just a couple of friends," Elizabeta shrugged innocently, drawing circles on Austria's chest with her pointer finger. "I was thinking of just America, Ukraine, Belgium, Portugal, Liechtenstein, Georgia, Kenya, South Africa, Peru, Vietnam, Taiwan, Seychelles, Monaco, Wy …you know, just to name a few..."

"'A few'?" Roderich stepped away from the seducer, taking both of her hands in his to prevent her from doing anything else that might insist he sway in his judgment. "Lizzie, what the hell are you trying to do? Invite all of the female nations here?"

"More or less," Hungary shrugged. "Oh, and Poland."

Austria looked a strange mix of confused and aghast, and he seemed to need a moment to sort through what had been told to him. "Why Poland?" he asked the most obvious question first.

Hungary shrugged. "He needs his girl time too, you know."

"This is absolutely ridiculous," the pianist muttered. "There is _no _way this is happening, Elizabeta. While you're up all night, giggling and gossiping and doing whatever else you women and Poland do all night, how am I supposed to get any work done? How am I supposed to _sleep_?" he stressed, still scowling. "You might be able to do what you like all the time, but I can't! I'm already behind thanks to your experiment with America."

"Stop being so dramatic," the green-eyed nation rolled her eyes. "You'll get your beauty sleep."

"And how, pray, do you believe that will happen? You know what a light sleeper I am!"

"_Because_," Hungary smirked, straightening out his ruffles on Roderich's shirt carefully. "You won't be here while my little get together is happening."

The room went silent, but in her head, Elizabeta was counting to ten, just waiting for the Austrian to explode. "I beg your pardon?" he sputtered at last. "Not be here? Where else am I supposed to go? This is _my _house!"

"Why, you'll be with Germany, of course."

"Germany?" his eyes bulged out a bit. "What on earth would I be doing there?"

Austria was good looking, sophisticated, and brilliant at music, but there were times Elizabeta grew tired of her lover's denseness. "Well it's no wonder you're horrible at directions, Roderich, if you can't even follow a simple conversation!" she declared, earning a stunned expression for her lovable brunette. "I'll be inviting Maria over as well, and you'll go to spend some time with Ludwig. You know those two have been having some kind of problem lately. While I'm here talking to her, you'll go to him and see what he says, and maybe we can help them settle their feud."

"B-but Ludwig won't talk to me about that sort of thing," Roderich tried desperately to not look into those bright green eyes before him, lest he fall into their trap. "He doesn't talk to anyone about his personal problems except Maria."

"And she and him are having some kind of trouble," Hungary concluded with a nod, "meaning that he'll need someone else to talk to, and that person's _going _to be you."

"Elizabeta, I can't just run off to Germany like this," Austria rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm in enough trouble for going to Italy several weeks ago. I can't keep doing this!"

Pouting thoughtfully, Hungary knew she had to think fast, lest she let this chance get away from her completely. "If you do this for me, _kedvenc_, I'll do anything you want afterwards," she smiled prettily for him. She might not be officially married to him anymore, but dammit all, Hungary still loved Austria, stubborn man that he was. They had been forced to end their marriage for political reasons, but that didn't mean they didn't still acted like a married couple, still engage in marital activities since they still believed, in their heart of hearts, that they were married.

Raising an intrigued eyebrow, the pianist appeared thoughtful before looking away, asking, "_Anything _that I want?"

"_Anything_, my love," she promised suggestively.

Nodding once, Austria leaned forward and captured her lips with his. Hungary took this as a very good sign and melted into her ex-husband's kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. When they broke away, his purple eyes were shining brightly as he smiled gently at her, giving her a nod. "Good." Elizabeta nearly squealed she was so excited to have gotten her way. "Because," the pianist went on, caressing her cheek, "you'll be spending the next month cleaning my house."

"What?" Hungary dropped her arms to her side, staring up at the other nation indignantly.

"Just like old times," he smirked at her, turning to walk out of the room, leaving her there to ponder if this deal was worth it. "Oh," he paused in the doorway, "and you'll be wearing that outfit I got you several years ago as you do it."

"That's a little too much!" Elizabeta argued, crossing her arms.

Austria merely raised an eyebrow at her. "So's having every female nation over for a slumber party in _my_ home when I'm not even present," he deadpanned before he turned and walked out.

Why did she love that man again? "Germans," the brunette muttered to herself. But she couldn't waste anymore time thinking about Roderich. She could do that later. At the moment, she had to get on her computer and start sending out emails to invite everyone. She just prayed America would accept the invitation.

**oOoOoOo**

As planned, a couple of days later found several of the world's female nations in the home of Austria. There were quite a few people that had turned out, but not everyone came. Luckily for Hungary, America had been one of the first to accept her offer, though she was one of the last to arrive. Prussia, inconsiderate woman that she was, arrived last to the get together after not even responding if she was coming at all. The albino had probably come last minute when she'd heard Roderich was going to Germany for a visit. That girl was still a bit bitter with the brunette, always bringing up past grievances that she could use against him for one reason or another.

When it seemed everyone had finally arrived, Hungary wasted no time in making her guests feel more at home. Food was immediately distributed to keep everyone happy as several of the nations had traveled significant distances, after all. It began just as smoothly as the hosting nation had hoped, everyone seemed to relax around one other and gave themselves over for a good night, talking and smiling, laughing and joking. Well, except Prussia, who seemed to remain constantly putout. And Belarus, who Ukraine had brought along, saying she couldn't very well leave her little sister behind to miss all the fun!

To one side, Poland stood amongst all the women, telling some sort of flamboyant tale that had sent America into a laughing fit, her mirth louder and more booming than Hungary had heard it in some time. She wondered what sort of story Poland had concocted this time, but was pleased to see that at least America was relaxing. That was good. If she was going to get any information out of the blonde, she needed the North American nation calm and willing.

After food came the expected gossip time, all the women, and Poland, gathered around to share stories or anything interesting that they had come across recently. Peru proved to be a wealth of information about her fellow South American nations, telling several embarrassing stories about Chile and Brazil, some of them, Hungary had never heard of before, and she found that she was laughing just as hard as everyone else, almost forgetting her true objective in this get together in the first place. And even Liechtenstein managed to tell a rather hilarious and interesting story about her older brother that no one had heard, not even a nation as nosey as Hungary could be, and by then, everyone was in tears they were laughing so hard.

"—and so when he heard a booming sound," Liechtenstein went on, trying to finish the story through the tears, "he ran into the conference room, still dressed in the frilly pink pajamas I'd made him, rifle aimed and ready to blow a hole through those mice, but stumbled into a private meeting his boss was having with Japan's boss, screaming, 'I've got you now you little bastards! I'll show _you _for ruining my peace!'"

"HAHAHAHA! N-no way!" America was literally rolling around on the floor, tears streaking down her cheeks.

Even Prussia had lightened up enough to find the story as amusing as everyone else, as she was doubled over. "KESESESESES! S-seriously? He seriously did that? Keseseseses! That's so _awesome_!"

"What d-did the Japanese think of that?" South Africa asked, holding her sides tightly to stop the pain that stretched her sides from all the mirth.

It took several moments before Liechtenstein could even speak, before she answered. "Th-they of course thought Vash was insane and assumed he was being insulting, so they actually started _yelling_ and stomped out of the room."

Everyone burst out laughing even harder, until Hungary was certain her sides were literally going to spilt open. Of all the ridiculous things Switzerland had done in the name of peace and neutrality, this was probably the most bizarre, and certainly the most riotous. Who would have thought that mice scratching in the wall would infuriate the Alpine nation so much? Shooting at planes that entered into his air space was one thing, but running through the house, shooting at mice in a pink night shirt with guests in the house was a completely new level of insanity on Switzerland's part.

It took a long while for the women to calm down, and when they finally did, it was surprisingly Ukraine that spoke up after. "That actually reminds me of a story about little Vanya when he was only seventy-years-old or so," she smiled fondly.

All heads turned in the direction of the Slavic nation, smiles easily coming to their lips. "Yeah?" Poland leaned forward. "Like, what about 'little Vanya'?"

"Hmm?" Ukraine snapped out of her reserve to look at the other nations staring at her expectantly.

"Yeah!" Seychelles bubbled. "What did Russia do?"

"It's bound to be good," Belgium whispered over to the side to Monaco, "if Russia did something stupid."

"You mean besides jump out of an airplane without a parachute?" Wy snickered, having heard Belgium.

Ukraine looked a little flustered, like she hadn't realized she'd spoken out loud and was now regretting it. "W-well, I'm not sure if Ivan would like it if I—"

"Tell the story, Big Sister," Belarus shocked everyone as she spoke. "I would like to hear the story as well," she admitted, apparently loving anything to do with her big brother.

_So Belarus is at least seventy years younger than Russia_, Hungary thought. She had never really known much about Belarus, and could never remember exactly when the girl had come into being, but then again, Elizabeta had had plenty of things to keep her mind occupied in the past and couldn't worry about some young Slavic girl. But it was still interesting to get information about the Slavic siblings and try to piece their mysterious and complicated relationship together.

"All right then," the older woman finally nodded before sitting back, smiling softly as the memory sprung up again in her mind's eyes. "As I said, it was about when Ivan was seventy-years-old, still very young, very little. Lithuania was still in his rebellious, rough stage at that time, and he would come around every so often and scare little Vanya." Ukraine chuckled, not noticing the murderous gleam in her younger sister's eyes.

"Anyway, one day, while I was very busy with meetings and negotiations for the south, I had sent Vanya out the play, but told him not to wander too far to the north or he might get into trouble. Moscow was still around in those days, you know," the Slavic woman added seriously, her cyan eyes seemed to see the events of the past before her. "Ah, Ivan was always so cute back then! He told me that he would not go far, and that he promised to come when I called him.

"Well, as it turned out, while I was working, he had come across a nest of mice. Although I am not sure why, he decided that it would be best to move them to a new home, and scooped up the nest to search out a more suitable place for them." All around the room, women were "aww-ing" and smiling at the image of a tiny Russian, bundled up so that only his nose and eyes could peek out into the world, his little scarf wrapped around him, because that, of course, was how everyone imagined Russia to be like back then.

"Well," Ukraine went on. "Apparently, in his quest, he did not realize he had gone too far north, as I had told him not to, and he wandered into Lithuania's territory. Lithuania told me later that he had asked Ivan what he was doing so far from home, but Ivan would not tell him. Toris had asked him what he had in his hands, but Ivan would not tell him that either, would not even speak, actually. And so, when Lithuania leaned down to try and look, maybe make himself seem a little less intimidating so that Ivan would speak, Vanya ended up taking the mice out of their nest, and threw the straw at Toris, right in the face! Angry, Toris swatted it away, but Ivan had pushed him backwards, and before Lithuania could have done anything, Ivan picked up a handful of dirt and threw it into his mouth!"

"That's just gross," Portugal grimaced.

"_Da_," Ukraine nodded with a giggle. "Toris became so angry that he started chasing Vanya, who, with the little mice in his pockets, raced back home to me. Apparently Lithuania hadn't noticed where he was going, and so while I was sitting talking to Turkey, those two come barging in, running around the room, Ivan crying, and jumping into my arms while Lithuania was yelling, still wiping dirt from his face as Turkey tried to hold him back!"

Everyone started laughing as they could imagine the chaos that must have ensued. What made it all the more amusing was the rather ironic twist that it was _Lithuania _that had been scaring and chasing _Russia_. "Aww, it must have been adorable!" Hungary gushed affectionately. She had always had such a weakness for children. She loved them so much, and to just imagine a little Russian with his little pets peaking out of his pockets was sweet. She'd had enough fun watching Holy Roman Empire and Veneziano with all their childish antics, she could just imagine what _Russia _would have gotten up to.

"It is in hind sight," the Slav nodded, still giggling. "At the time, I was less than amused."

"And, like, she was _scary _when she wanted to be back then," Poland added, smirking. "I can't, like believe Tory would chase a little kid though," he snickered. "He, like, really had balls back then."

Sitting between Belarus and America, Prussia snorted. "Wish that kid would'da kept that gutsiness," she frowned. "Maybe he would've saved us all a lot of trouble and kept that Russian under control."

Next to the albino, stormy blue eyes glared daggers at the Prussian. "Big Brother is perfect," Belarus hissed. "It was _you _and that nightmare Germany that were trouble."

"O-kay!" America clapped her hands together, moving herself to sit between the growling women, not realize that she was probably not the best person that should separate those two. Hungary had heard that Belarus and America had had a bit of a run-in at the last World Meeting. And then for some reason, since the moment she had arrived, Prussia had been glaring furiously at blonde, apparently just as infuriated with the American as the Belarusian.

And then it occurred to Hungary: Had Prussia figured out about the contest? Is that why she was angry with Germany, and now seemed to hate America almost as much as she did Belarus? The albino hadn't let a thing slip thus far, but honestly, why would the East German care? This contest was just the thing that someone as cynical and mean-spirited as Prussia could really get behind. France and Spain, Prussia's two best friends surprisingly enough, liked this idea from the beginning, so why would the albino care?

Unless Maria just hated the notion of the boy she'd raised going on a date with America? But why would that matter? America was a pretty good sort of person, it would certainly sweeten any German deals with the United States should Germany and America begin dating. Was there something she was missing here?

"What's next on the agenda?" America's voice broke through Hungary's fog. Blinking, Elizabeta realized there was a thick tension mounting in the room as Prussia and Belarus both continued to glare at one another and also America, who didn't seem to notice the hateful looks thrown at her.

"Oh my God! I, like, know a game!" Poland called.

"Sure, what's that?" Elizabeta asked, relieved that someone had broken the strain.

"Okay, so, like, we all write out five questions on, like, cards or something. Then we mix up all the cards, and like, go in a circle, draw a card, and like, ask each other the questions. And totally make them, like, fun questions, nothing stupid," he emphasized with a bored look across the room.

"So we should make these questions as ridiculous and potentially embarrassing as possible?" Georgia grinned nastily. "This will be fun."

"Well, duh!" Poland laughed. "That's what makes it all, like, interesting!"

Hungary smirked almost as nastily as Georgia had, and ran to get index cards and pens for everyone to write down their questions. After five minutes or so of writing, the women, and Poland, passed their cards to Hungary who shuffled them and put them in a pile in the center of their circle. Since it was Poland's idea, they all agreed that he should be the one to start the game.

"Okay!" he cried, drawing a card. "This is for you, Hungary," he turned to the woman next to him. "It says, 'Like, if you could sleep with anyone in the world, human or, like, nation, who would it be?'" A few of the younger nations, such as Liechtenstein, Wy, and even America, blushed a bit, though America, ever the follower, laughed along with the rest of the group of women.

Hungary sat for a moment, truly thoughtful and not at all put out by the question. "Well, besides Roderich," she smirked as the other women hooted in appreciation. "I think… András Stohl," she admitted.

"No way," Vietnam crossed her arms. "Of _all _the men in the world?"

Elizabeta shrugged. "I think he's cute and he's a great actor. There's just something about him when he smiles…Okay, my turn. This is for Kenya. 'What do you wear to bed at night?'"

The African woman smiled coyly. "Well that depends on what I'm _doing _in a particular night." The other women in the room laughed at the suggestive reply, Hungary completely missing just how uncomfortable America was becoming. "But on an _average _night? Something light, and Egyptian fine," she winked. "Men love that. Oh, but now, this card says, 'Describe your perfect man,' Belgium."

The European woman grinned like the Cheshire cat, and without missing a beat, replied. "One covered in chocolate." Even America had to laugh at that one as she had watched enough of her awkward comedies to appreciate that joke at least. "Well, I guess more realistically, he'd have to be smooth, charming, polite, and would do anything I asked him. I like a man that can take orders."

"Don't we all," South Africa sighed dreamily.

"Anyway, this is for Wy, I guess," Belgium went on. "'If you could travel anywhere with anyone, where and who would it be?'"

"That's no fun," Georgia grumbled under her breath. "Too tame…"

The young island thought a moment before blushing a bit. "I-I guess if I could go anywhere and with anyone, I'd…" she blushed a little bit more. "Do I have to answer?" Everyone nodded vigorously. "I-I guess I don't care where, but I'd just want to be with…with A-Australia," she admitted.

There were several "aww's" again by the older women as they giggled at how cute and shy Wy looked at that moment. "That's _so _cute!" Poland giggled.

Quickly grabbing a card, so as not to have the attention on her much longer, Wy read, "Liechtenstein, 'You're out with your crush and he just made a move to kiss you; what would you do?'"

The tiny nation surprised everyone by answering with relative calm, despite the slight blush on her cheeks. "Well, I suppose I'd let him kiss me."

"Really?" Taiwan questioned, looking a bit skeptical.

"_Ja_," Liechtenstein nodded firmly. "Because I'm pretty sure it'd be the last thing he ever did before my big brother tried to kill him."

Everyone laughed a bit at this, shaking their heads in fond exasperation. Oh that Switzerland…

"Okay, Prussia, your turn," Liechtenstein smiled as she drew a card. "I guess it is similar to Belgium's question. 'What is essential when looking for a man?'"

The albino was old enough not to blush at such questions, and confidant enough that she didn't even have to waste any time thinking through her answer before she spoke. "He needs to be strong, self-efficient, like beer, and can follow my orders. Anything else I'm not wasting my time on," she pronounced harshly, as she drew a card, glaring at America as she did so. "'If you were trapped all alone with only one other person in the…the _zombie_-pocalypse, who would it be?'?" Everyone frowned. "What the hell? Is this your own question, America?" the German scowled.

America smiled a bit uncomfortably, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah, that's mine. Am I still allowed to answer it?"

Poland frowned, probably not really approving of the odd question, but he shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. But, like, you have to tell us _why _you choose the person you do."

"Cool!" America beamed brightly. "Okay, I'd pick Russia."

Everyone froze as they stared at the blonde even as Belarus fumed. Coming out of her shock first, Peru shook her head, black hair falling into her face slightly as she asked the question everyone wanted to know. "_Why_ him?"

America rolled her eyes, as though the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. "Anyone who can survive Stalin and deal with him so directly on a day to day basis can _totally _handle zombies."

Poland looked like he was about to argue, say something to dispute her claim, but ended up snapping his mouth shut. "Well," he said after a minute. "Why else?"

For whatever reason, America seemed excited to be able to explain her reasoning. "Well, for starters, he's really huge. I mean, he takes up, like, the whole north eastern land, expands over Europe and Asia, which makes him really strong. He's also used to fighting and pours an insane amount of strength into all his tactics, so I won't have to worry about picking up any slack. And though I'm loathed to admit it—" and she really did look it— "his AK47 really is an awesome rifle. Not as good as my M16, of course, but still good. Dude, with my new Hornady Zombie ammunition and my knowledge on how to survive a zombie-pocalypse, we'd totally survive. Like a boss!"

Silence.

"You really just don't have much going on upstairs, do you?" Georgia frowned.

"Hey!" America cried. "It could happen! And when I'm the only one prepared, then you'll be singing a different tune, and you'd all be wishing you'd've listened to me."

"How's that alien of yours, by the way?" Georgia pressed, smiling sardonically.

"Tony's _totally _real!" the large western nation scowled. "He just went to New Jersey for the week so he could run some experiments on the water there because he doesn't understand the concept of tanning and thinks that the water is why some of the people look orange."

"Oh my," Ukraine grimace. "Orange? That doesn't sound natural…"

"Would you just read Belarus her Goddamned question?" Prussia growled.

"Geez," America glared back at the albino. "What's your issue?" But before Prussia could have answered, the Superpower grabbed a card and read, "'You are stranded on a desert island with nothing, not even the clothes on your back'—" she frowned at that—"'but you are allowed one item. What would you bring with you?'"

"Big Brother," Belarus ground out, still looking hatefully at America, her hands balled up into fists so tightly that her knuckles were white.

Hungary had a very bad feeling that the three women in front of her would come to blows later that night if precautions weren't taken soon. But as it was, the game went on with no one plucking out anyone else's eyes and no one fought, probably due to them all watching the tensions between America, Prussia, and Belarus growing. None of the women actually did anything except snip at one another. America, despite having no clue as to why the other two were angry with her, was equally guilty of stirring up a bit of trouble, always at the ready with a snappy reply and insult to the others.

The evening went on from there, the game ended with some more laughs, more embarrassment, but Hungary no closer to actually figuring out what sort of man America liked, except strong, but that was a given. It had become apparent as the night went on that Prussia knew something was going on concerning America and Germany, and the albino hated it. It surprised Elizabeta when she truly realized how much Maria seemed to care for her brother-nation.

Although it was never said, nothing was too clear, Hungary saw through the albino's façade and realized that Prussia didn't just love Germany, she was _in love _with Germany. The stupid twit was getting jealous of anyone that described a man too similar to the nation she had raised, just as Belarus was also growing more and more resentful and furious all the time. America, unfortunate girl, was caught in the middle. The blonde certainly didn't deserve Belarus's harsh treatment since Russia was certainly safe from any of the American's advancement, but Elizabeta knew Prussia had a real threat since it could very well end up that Germany and America would start dating.

To get everyone away from talking, to try and defuse any chances that might blow up soon, Hungary suggested that they watch a movie. It was agreed to, and soon everyone was sitting around the large projection screen that Elizabeta had made Roderich buy before he'd left. Soon, all the women, and Poland, were relatively quiet watching some sort of Asian romance. A few, America and Georgia the loudest, protested at first, wanting something more upbeat and exciting, but eventually relented.

For at least the first twenty-five minutes everything seemed to calm down, and Hungary began feeling that perhaps she could go talk to America and needle out information, but it was with horror that the hosting nation watched as Belarus beat her to it.

"_Amerika_," Belarus hissed quietly, so as not to draw attention.

"What?" America whispered back, looking wary of the usually crazed nation.

"Stop talking to Ivan," the European nation growled. "He doesn't like you and he's mine."

"I can talk to who I like," the Superpower scowled. "And he's _not _yours, you're just the psycho who can't even see that you terrify the shit out of your own brother."

"How _dare _you," Belarus hissed, looked ready to explode, but before she could go on and perhaps stab the blonde, America stood.

"Anyone want anything from the kitchen?" America asked.

Several people called out requests before the American left without looking back, leaving behind a fuming Belarusian. _That was too close_, Hungary thought, sitting back in relief. But before she could get too comfortable, she saw Prussia get up from her seat by Belgium and Liechtenstein with narrowed red eyes. _Oh shit_! Hungary raced after the pair, hoping that she wouldn't be too late to help save America from the albino's wrath.

She went as fast as she could, but Hungary didn't get to the kitchen before the confrontation began. "You must think you're something special, don't you?" Prussia asked, looking like a predator as she stalked around the younger nation.

It was probably because she was too use to spying that caused Elizabeta to hang back and hide behind the corner to listen. It's not like she was doing anything _wrong_, this was her …er, Roderich's house—which was same thing really— and she was just waiting to see if she would be needed to diffuse a potential fight. This wasn't like _spying_ spying, she told herself. This was _different_…

"What now?" America sounded annoyed, if not a bit exasperated.

"Listen, I _know_," Prussia growled. "And I'm not going to let you take him. You might think you're hot shit right now, being the leading nation in the world at the moment, but you don't scare me. You're still a little twerp, and I'll be _damned _if I let you steal West from me."

"What?" America sounded completely taken-back. "I'm not going to take anyone away from you, least of all Germany."

"Save it," Maria snapped. "Listen, I do _not _approve of everything you do, and you're a _horrible _influence on West, so just stay away, got it?"

"What is with everyone and thinking I'm going to steal their brothers, or something?" the blonde exclaimed. "First off, you can't make decisions for Germany, and even if you could, tough luck, he and I are major trading partners, so we'll _have _to see each other. And for the _last _time, I don—"

"Hello?" Hungary popped around the corner to find Prussia and America almost literally face to face as they were staring each other down. Both women were about the same height, and about the same build, Prussia being just a bit slimmer, so had they been human, America would have had perhaps a slight advantage in that sense. But both women were uncommonly strong willed and while America possessed far greater strength, Prussia had the cunning and drive to allow her to put up a very good struggle, perhaps to even wear her opponent out over time.

When the two feuding nations saw Hungary, they both snapped their mouths closed and took a tentative step back from one another. "Hi," America smiled weakly at the hostess, her blue eyes reflecting just how tired she was.

"I came to see if you needed help carrying things back," Elizabeta explained, quickly.

"Sure, thanks," America nodded, looking out of sorts from her back to back encounters with two very jealous women.

Soon, the three of them had gathered up snacks and drinks for everyone in an awkward silence before they turned to go back. America quickly left, apparently not wanting to be around Prussia any longer than she had to, but before the albino could leave as well, Hungary stepped in her way.

"You need to leave her alone," she warned.

"What the hell are you going on about?" the albino snapped.

"Leave America alone," Hungary's voice lost any civility as she virtually snarled at the other woman. "She's not done anything to you, so back off."

"She's done _plenty_, I assure you," Maria snorted as she tried to walk around the brunette, but Elizabeta brought her to a halt once more.

"I know what you think, and you need to let it be." Before Prussia could question her on how it was Hungary knew her recent troubles with Germany, or how she knew it could possibly connect with America, the southern nation went on. "I realize you might…have feelings for Germany, but you can't keep everyone away from him." The albino looked absolutely floored. "He has a right to be happy too you know, and you trying to keep him away from other women, like America, is just hurting him more."

"Sh-shut up!" Prussia snarled. "You don't know _anything_! West is still too young to realize and understand relationships and love and all that. He's a man, he sees a woman, is attracted, but doesn't know how to deal with the emotions behind it. And I'll be _damned _if I let some tramp waltz into his life and break his heart!"

Hungary frowned, more out of sympathy than anything else, at the bitterness in Maria's voice. "So you would ruin his chances of happiness by spoiling any relationships he might be able to form with others so you can selfishly keep him to yourself?" Again, the albino looked stunned. "_You're_ hurting him _now _by refusing to talk to him and working out your jealousy issues. That's why Austria went to Germany, to try and be there for Ludwig while his own sister-nation isn't and is being cruel for what appears to be no reason at all."

"_Halt die Klappe_!" Prussia hissed, her ruby eyes churning with many different emotions, none of them calming. "You just…you just have to be in everyone else's business, don't you? Well you need to stay out of people's lives, Elizabeta! Not everyone wants you in it, you know!"

Unable to say anything else, the green-eyed woman watched as the albino pushed past her to stomp back into the other room to finish the movie and hand out the remaining snacks. _Well, that could have gone better_…

When she was back in with everyone, Hungary noticed that America had gone to sit with Peru and South Africa, far away from the two jealous European women. Ukraine seemed to take note of his sister's anger and had taken measures to restrain the crazed nation from everyone else. Prussia had gone to sulk beside Liechtenstein and Belgium in the corner, away from everyone else. Apparently, the three women had settled all that they could tonight without becoming violent. But that was well enough for Elizabeta. At least none of them had gotten into a physical fight in Austria's house, otherwise the pianist would have thrown a fit!

Sitting down once more between Georgia and Taiwan, Elizabeta sighed. _I hope Roderich, at least, was able to find out more than I was_, she thought sadly, regretting that now all her chances at charming and warming up to America to get the girl to talk about her love life had closed.

* * *

><p><strong>Arthur's Note: <strong>Hornady's Zombie Max Handgun Ammunition is now on sale for $16-$20. — Seriously, I'm not making it up. Go look for yourself. Americans have finally made zombie amo…should I be proud of my country for this? Only time will tell, I suppose. *shrug*

AK47 (_Avtomat Kalashnikova_ )is a Russian assault rifle while the M16 is like the America equivalent…the AK47 has been proven to be the better weapon, though America can't seem to admit it here, can she? Both really are wonderful weapons and are used in both militaries, it's just that the AK47 is easier to clean and reload. (You can tell I hang around hunter/military guys too much, can't you?)

** Someone, in a review, told me that in many European nations it is illegal for citizens to own guns. Well, I DO know that, but in this story, because we're talking about the nations, I believe that they are all, to a certain extent, active militarily, and also granted special immunities in which it would allow them to carry weapons on their person. I mean, it just makes sense, doesn't it? It's just a precaution on the governments' part to ensure that their nations can defend themselves outside of their own land, right? In a sense, they're their own bodyguards at times. So…yeah, just if you were wondering about that…

**Hungarian: **_kedvenc-_(like) darling (…or so I was told. Correct me if I'm wrong, please!)

András Stohl= Hungarian actor.

'**Nother Note: **Well, Canada's certainly been busy distracting everyone it seems, hasn't he? Anyone want to hazard any guesses about what could possible happen next? Thanks again everyone for all the AMAZING reviews I've been getting! Over 100 and only **6 **chappies! That's awesome! And thanks to all my anonymous reviewers! I really wish you all had accounts to log into so I could respond to all your kind words! It really means a lot, everyone. :) So please leave me more of your thoughts, as we come into the final stretch of men in our little contest! :)


	8. Chapter 8: Game Night in Tokyo

**Chapter Eight: Game Night in Tokyo**

It wasn't very often that Ivan found himself nervous, but he was today. Since the last world meeting, after his terrifying experience of being trapped by Belarus while she and America butted heads again, his younger sister had been watching him closely, keeping an extra seventy eyes on him. The younger nation wouldn't leave him alone, and would constantly call him to see if he was with anyone other than his bosses or other office workers, and would even call the secretaries to confirm that Russia had been telling the truth.

His big sister— God forever bless her soul!—although she could never be around as often as they both would have liked, must have realized that their sister was acting more…_tenacious_ than usual, and had taken the girl with her to Hungary. He had been very aware of Hungary's more recent plan of staging some sort of all women's get together in Austria, and although he was thankful for Katyusha taking Natalia away for a while so that he could actually _breathe _again, he was a little wary of his sisters going to spend the night with Hungary. That green-eyed woman could be so weird and certainly as perverted as any man. But what really was a cause for concern was the fact that he didn't know if that crazy brunette might try and recruit his sisters into their game of winning America. He didn't think so, but anything was possible when Hungary was desperate, and she was certainly getting frustrated with all of the failed dating attempts.

Yet there was something else even _more _terrifying that Hungary's fanaticism, and that was the fact that this sleepover was mixing very potent ingredients together in the form of America and Belarus. Those two did not seem to be getting along very well lately, and with Natalia's jealousy issues flaring to life more strongly recently, it could only spell disaster. That, and there was also the extra element of adding Prussia to the pot. His little sister and the albino had never gotten along very well, had always hated each other, and if they were in close proximity for too long, Ivan couldn't promise that anyone could stop them from trying to rip each other's throats out.

But what made it all just _that _much more confusing was the fact that his recent prank on the Prussian the other day had more consequences than he'd originally thought through. At the time, Ivan had thought it would be fun to mess with the albino a little bit and insinuate that Germany was making a move on America. The woman had been obviously distressed about the notion. Fun, right? Well, perhaps not so much considering that it had a major backlash on Germany. While that normally wouldn't have made the Slav feel too guilty—truthfully, it probably wouldn't have made him feel guilty _at all_—there was one part of that equation he hadn't thought about all too clearly, and that piece had been America.

The eastern German was a strong woman, and had certainly showed over her many years of existence that she was a fighter and would do anything to keep what was hers, even if it had long ago passed from her possession. Over the course of about two years now, Ivan had observed Germany and Prussia together, and marked that their relationship was deeper than one might first expect. They were attracted to one another, though neither seemed to be able to admit it. It was only recently that the two seemed to be inching their way towards one another to perhaps give love a shot. That being the case, because of Ivan's little prank, the Prussian woman had become fierce yet again, and was out for blood. And since she could not kill the man she loved, she would more than likely go after the woman she believed would take her West from her, and that was America.

Even when Hungary had told them all about her idea to get the women together, Russia knew it was going to be a complete and total disaster, and that was even before he knew his sisters would be attending. After, he knew that it could very well have cataclysmic results. Mix two extremely jealous woman with short tempers and more than enough will to kill together, and add in, what in their minds, was their potential rival, who just happened to be an extremely powerful girl that could easily out-do either of them without even having to blink, who, on top of even that, was unaware of the other two women's feelings and deep hatred and remained oblivious to her surroundings most of the time when she believed herself to be in friendly territory…Yes, the possibilities were frightening. It could have easily been more potent than a nuclear attack.

By some miracle, or perhaps just plain dumb luck, the slumber party, although it had ended in failure, had not gone as horrifically terrible as Ivan had thought it would, though it was bad enough. The day his sisters left Austria, Natalia had not gone home as Katyusha had, but instead, had come to stay in Russia to plague—er, _spend time _with him. Unfortunately, his little sister's idea of "spending time together" was more of her sitting beside him uncomfortably close, her nails digging into his skin wherever she kept a hold of him, and whispering to him to marry her. Good quality, sibling time? No. Unsettling and completely terrifying? Yes.

Ivan loved his little sister, he truly and deeply did…just not enough to marry her. Or carry on any type of relationship that wasn't strictly platonic. It was natural, after all, for younger siblings to get jealous of those who took away the attentions of a beloved older sibling, but there _was _a limit. Poor Natalia, if she would just stop freaking him out so badly sometimes he really wouldn't mind spending more time with her.

A week or so later, however, Ivan had managed to get her to leave him alone, seeing as his bosses actually didn't say anything to the other nation. Russia believed it was because they were scared of Belarus as much as he was, but they _claimed _that she kept him in the country so he could get work done. Though much didn't get done, seeing as half the time the large nation was either frozen in fear or lamenting over his sibling's obsession.

It was a good thing that she'd gone when she had, because after the World Meeting, America had fulfilled her promise, and had come to him to plan a skype conference call. It had been a little awkward on his part at first, though America, remaining true to form, didn't seem to be able to read the mood, and chatted with him rather happily for a few minute as they tried to set up an appropriate time. It had been rather nice to just talk to her like that, when she wasn't angry with him or snipping at him to do something. Ivan really couldn't remember too clearly the last time they had been able to talk like that. It had been long ago, he knew, when he was still under the Tsars…

But it was this skype call that was responsible for Russia's nervousness today. With his sister gone and sated for the time being, content that she had nothing to worry about, all Ivan had to be concerned about was talking to America again. The last time he had, it was safe to say he had felt like a huge idiot. There were many nights recently, that he'd spent up, wondering why he suddenly felt so stupid in front of the American, or why his face would heat up at the thought of her, but nothing came to him. Was he really just that lonely that he was embarrassedly starving for his past rival's attention again? It was a pathetic thought, one that he didn't like thinking about too closely.

So, sitting at his desk at home that night, Ivan waited for the telltale signs of America logging onto skype. It was nine o'clock at night currently, but he had kept on his business clothes to remain looking professional as he spoke. It would only be one in the afternoon in Washington D.C, so he didn't want America to think that he was lazy by talking business in his pajamas. He had already looked like a spineless coward at the World Meeting when Belarus had latched on to him. He didn't need the America to have any other excuses to think poorly of him.

A few minutes passed, and Ivan frowned. America was four minutes late for their call, and he began to get a little worried. Had she forgotten about it? Had she just been playing with him to make him look like a fool? No, she had seemed genuine when she had asked him to call. It had always been hard for the girl to lie when she was younger, her big blue eyes always shown with the truth. It had only been late in the Second World War that she had actually been able to pull off a successful lie, and then had become an expert during the Cold War. But when she was not expecting deceit or any confrontation at all, she was an open book, and Russia could read her a mile away.

Just when Ivan decided that perhaps he should just call her, he heard the distinctive little popping noise of someone having just logged on to skype. He smiled when it read "Stars-and-Stripes1776". Excellent! So it seemed that this all wasn't just some sort of terrible prank. America had been serious about her intentions.

But before Russia could get too happy or his heart become toowarm, he saw America's status. He scowled at the words: "Если ты можешь это прочитать, ты – коммуняга ;) " But before he could really find a moment to muster up real anger, America was calling him.

There was a split moment when Ivan thought about not to answer, but ended up clicking the button to accept the call anyway. He _had _set up an appointment, after all, and he would _dearly _love to hear what kind of excuse she would come up with for her status.

"_Privyet, Amerika_," he drawled.

"Hi-ya Big Guy!" America's cheerfulness momentarily made Russia forget that he was supposed to be angry with the girl for what she had written, but when he did remember, strangely, he could only gather annoyance. "How's it hanging?"

"I do not approve of your status," he informed her crisply, or, at least he hoped he was being crisp.

Blue eyes lit up and sparkled, even through a computer screen as she let out a big, booming laugh. "Tsk, tsk, looks like someone's a commie," she winked. Ivan's face heated up, and he wasn't sure if it was all completely due to resentment. "I'm just teasing," she went on before he could hope to think of some sort of answer. "I just _had _to put it up when I knew you'd be on to see it," she giggled.

Strange, her laughter no longer seemed to infuriate him as much as it had in the past, nor did her winks and slightly crooked smile that went with her incredibly cocky attitude. Granted, she was still terribly exasperating, but for some reason, Ivan found himself appreciating it as the joke it was probably meant to be—at least he hoped it was just a joke. When had this shift taken place?

"I would like it very much if you'd change it now," he said after a moment. "It can be taken as very offensive to some." Who knew what kinds of people America had as friends on skype? She might have upset more people than him—though he was feeling less and less offended as time went on. It was probably due to it being late at night.

The American pouted for a moment before she sighed. "Yeah, okay. You're right. I was just kidding around. Sorry. Give me a sec and I'll change it."

Ivan watched with rapped attention as the girl began furiously typing something else. In the end, instead of writing something long and complicated as Russia would have expected with as much time as she took typing, all that ended up as the status was a simple smiley face. When he saw this, he raised an eyebrow at her.

The girl shrugged, nonchalant. "I couldn't really think of anything too witty at the moment," she admitted. Was that a slight blush on her cheeks?

"Right," Russia nodded feeling suddenly very awkward. He didn't know where he stood at the moment. In the past, if he'd have seen America had written something like that, he would have been furious, and remained furious. Any further contact he had with her would have been spent probably yelling, definitely arguing, and generally just thinking up hateful, insulting things to say back to her. Now, however, Ivan found he wasn't so very angry, just a bit annoyed at her obnoxious _wit_—if you could call it that— and he didn't know what else to say. There would be no screaming matches, no insults. So what was he supposed to do?

"I understand that you went to Austria recently?" he blurted. If he could have, the Russian would have slapped himself in the forehead for being so very tactless. He wasn't supposed to know about that!

"Oh," America sat up a little, shifting a bit uncomfortably. "Yeah, I did…Did your sisters talk about it?"

Of course! His sisters had gone! He had just been thinking about that a moment ago. That was good. At least he hadn't blown Hungary's operation or anything and be the cause for ending the game before its conclusion. "_Da_! _Da, _they told me about it."

Again, America didn't look comfortable. Why should that be? "Yeah…well, sorry if I upset your sister or whatever, but she was the one that was being a jerk to _me _first," the blonde defended.

"O-oh, right. Belarus…" he trailed off with a sad frown. "She will be fine. She just…likes me…a little toomuch, and gets…clingy."

The Superpower snorted. "'A little'? Well, sorry if I caused you any trouble where she's concerned. But seriously, I didn't do anything! She was mad at me before I got there, I swear!"

"_Da_, I believe you," Ivan reassured quickly. He really wasn't resentful towards the American for being the reason his little sister had come to him and stalked him for weeks? Odd.

But these confusing and rather new feelings were put aside for the Russian to think about later on as his meeting was beginning. It was much easier to slip into nation jargon and think about trade agreements and international operations. For the first time in months, Russia focused more on his work, almost desperate to not stare at the American across from him.

It was hard, though. While it was nighttime in Moscow, it was still a sunny late-summer afternoon in D.C. America was sitting in her office, a large window behind her, and it must have been open as her hair seemed to be shifting in the back by wind. The sun was shining in behind her, making her golden hair really shine, illuminating her so that she had an almost ethereal appearance. Her smiles were all bright and sunny, her laughter seemed lighter than usual, almost chime-like, though it was still as joyful as ever. She was wearing some sort of red blouse that looked to be silk, though Russia couldn't tell for sure, and with her hair down as it was, it truly looking like amber waves of grain.

Negotiations fell away, and soon the two were telling one another stories that had little to do with politics or nationhood. As America began telling one rather wild tall tale, a very great realization struck Ivan: America was pretty.

No, America wasn't just pretty, she was…well, he wasn't exactly sure what she was, but she _was _attractive. She was not at all the classic beauty, perfect like many had called Natalia, but she indeed had a beauty all its own. Her face was slightly rounder than Natalia's, her nose a little longer, most likely due to the German influence in her blood. She did indeed have a rather delicate French brow, and her hair was just that of the English. America was not a skinny girl, never had been, but she was as curvy and full figured as her people. Throughout her history, her people had always been among the healthiest in the world. She was not sleek and delicate, to be admired from afar as Natalia was, but rather rugged, quirky, and warm. Very warm.

"—and then, Mattie came into the kitchen with this _huge_ hunk of cheese, and I was all like, 'Dude? What the heck? Where's the beef patties?' And then he was all like, 'Oh! You said hamburger? I thought you said Limburger!'"

Russia burst out laughing. Oh, it wasn't that the story was particularly funny, in all honesty, it was rather stupid and predictable, but Ivan laughed all the same. He couldn't help it. If anyone else had been him, had had his history with America, and had just admitted to himself that he found her attractive, they would have laughed too.

It's not that he hadn't realized that the girl was good-looking before, he'd always thought so when America had been younger. The girl had been adorable as a child the few times that Russia had come in contact with her when she'd been staying with England as a very small child. The girl had been so very bright and happy and energetic that she had instantly endeared herself to the Slav. She had been just the right amount of bashful and bold, but always with a smile. The first time he had ever seen America, back 1682, the first thing he'd blurted out was, "How cute! A little cherub!"

But that had been quite some time ago and America had grown from looking like the picture of an innocent cherub, to a fully recognized Superpower that needed to be watched carefully. The American had grown up to be a lot more pushy and annoying and too involved, declaring herself the "World Police" and the "Hero". She could be outrageously stubborn and quite greedy if she put her heart into it. And yet, for those that truly knew her, or at least studied her long enough, could see that she was still the same as she had always been in many aspects. She still loved her farmland, was proud of all her accomplishments and inventions, and was always seeking out the approval of the older nations. Yes, in many ways she hadn't changed much at all, and was still very young.

When he had calmed down, Ivan realized that America had been laughing along with him, mistakenly believing that he had actually found the story humors. He would indulger her for the time being. After all, when had been the last time that they had both actually laughed together like that? An innocent sharing of amusement with nothing sinister behind their words or actions?

When she had settled down, America, still giggling slightly, unleashed one of her most radiant smiles upon the Russian, and he couldn't help but smile back. Shaking her head, making Ivan wonder what she was thinking about, the blonde looked down at her lap, as though trying to find something else to say after the long laugh. "Yeah. I love Mattie, but sometimes I think he seriously needs a hearing aide or something."

Ivan chuckled. "Perhaps he does? Who knows." He was about to go on, to perhaps tell his own story or ask her another question, he wasn't even sure, but before he could, he heard the distinct sound of a phone going off.

America blinked several times before looking around at her desk. "Oh! Hey, sorry, you mind if I take this real quick?" she asked as she picked up her cell phone.

"Not at all," Russia shrugged. It was a bit bothersome, but at least the distraction would allow him to figure out something to say back to America.

"Hello, the United States of America, your awesome Hero speaking, how may I help you?" she answered swiftly. Russia snorted at the introduction. "Oh hey, Kiku!" Ivan froze. "Great!" America went on. "But I'm kinda in the middle of a conference call at the moment. Mind if I call you back?...Okay, sure, go for it…NO WAY!" America squealed, her face almost as bright and excited as the first time she had ever flown a plane. "You serious?... Well, _duh _I'm coming over! When can I come?... Sweet deal, man, I'm totally there! Anything I should bring?... Haha! You got it!...Yeah, I'll see you then, buddy! Bye!"

As America hung up the phone, Ivan couldn't keep the sour scowl from crossing his face. It was a natural reaction whenever he heard Japan's name, but he couldn't let America know that he knew what was going to happen, so the moment she looked back at him, Russia swallowed the sudden bitter bile that had entered into his mouth, and plastered on a smile. "Who was that, _Amerika_?" he asked as pleasantly as possible.

The blonde was still smiling brightly, looking like she was about to start jumping up and down in her seat. "That was Kiku, er, Japan. He invited me over in a couple days to help him test out his newest video game. It's gunna be the most awesome thing ever!" she exclaimed, flopping back in her seat dramatically. "I've been waiting _years _for this to come out."

A fresh wave of resentment and anger towards the island nation overcame Ivan, and he nearly let his brittle smile fall, but he stubbornly kept it in place. America didn't need to see him get angry with Japan. She knew they didn't like each other, but if he made a rather acidic display at the moment, America would notice and assume there had been a recent run-in between the two and would no doubt start asking questions. Questions that might very well ruin plans.

"Well, good," Russia nodded, forcing himself to remain calm. "That is…nice for you then."

"Dude, it totally is!" she sat back up, grinning. "I'm so freakin' excited now!"

"I can see that." His smile was too tight. "Well, if that is all, I believe I should be going now. It is nearly eleven-thirty now, and I have work in the morning."

"Is it really?" America seemed to look over at her clock, her face stunned. "Huh. Where did the hours go?"

"They flew away," he smiled gently at her bemused look. "I suppose I should say _Dobry den_ to you then."

America laughed, just as fully as she would have had he told her a joke, and Ivan found himself appreciating it. "_Spokoinoi nochi_, Big Guy. Sleep tight!"

And with only a final goodbye, Russia logged off, but sat in front of his computer for several long minutes, trying to figure out the confusion he felt raging inside of himself. He had no idea why he found himself so mystified, but he did, or what this uncertainty was even for.

By the time he looked at the clock again, it was well after the time he should be asleep, and he knew he had to get to go to bed soon or he wouldn't be able to function in the morning. Sighing, pushing down his churning thoughts, Ivan went to sleep, and dreamed of ways he could make Japan look like a fool.

**oOoOoOo**

True enough, the next morning, when Ivan had woken up, he found he'd gotten a message from Hungary informing him that they would all be meeting in Japan for the next date, and so to prepare, Ivan sent out a message of his own. Several days later found the group of nations in their usual oversized vehicle in Tokyo. They forwent the van, seeing as there were not many like that in Japan, but went into a vehicle that looked like small moving lorry.

Germany didn't drive this time. The blonde looked extremely out of sorts, like he hadn't slept well in a while, and sat in the back quietly with Canada. Russia had heard Austria talking to France about it, saying that apparently Germany and Prussia's little argument, something no one save Ivan knew the reasons for, had not been resolved, and Maria had apparently told Germany to give her space. Being the ever obedient soldier that he was, the blonde had taken the Prussian's words to heart and had left immediately to give the room they seemed to so desperately need, and had actually been staying with Japan for the last several days, not knowing that his friend was the next competitor. Hungary had even said she wasn't sure if Germany would have come along this time had it not been for him already being here.

Oh those Germans and their repressed feelings. Russia had found out long ago that it was healthier to express emotions. Was it not more freeing and wonderful to get angry and let everyone know it? Ivan was the sort to tell someone bluntly if he was mad and just exactly why if they didn't figure it out. Wasn't that just better?

So instead of the European economic power driving through the streets of Tokyo, it fell by default, to France. England was wary, but since the spying equipment was left without a man as Japan had always been one to sit and work the computers and whatnot, the European island was left to man the equipment. Russia, personally, made sure to keep the headphones on and kept most of his attention to the screen so as not to distract him for the events that were to take place. For whatever reason, he did not like the fact that America was going out with Japan. Or perhaps he just didn't want to give Japan the chance of being happy? Whatever, it really didn't matter in the end, because Russia _didn't like it_.

As they waited, Italy made an attempt to talk to Germany, make him feel better when no one else was really looking, but the German ended up hissing something at his little friend which scared the happy Italian so bad he turned right back around and sat in between Hungary and Austria, eyes wide with tears streaming down. Spain went to his little brother quickly, and set about trying to help Hungary calm him down. Canada looked uncomfortable being near the other blonde, but unfortunately for the North American, it seemed the sulking European didn't notice him. Or rather, if he did notice him, he didn't care, since Canada was not a nation known to pry, and was usually pretty quiet most of the time.

"All right, everyone, I've gotten a signal," England announced. "Start driving, Frog. Japan's on his way home from the airport."

Although clearly annoyed at the use of that nickname, France only obliged with a sarcastic, "_Oui, mon Capitan!_" but Britain didn't seem to care about the grumbling Frenchman.

After about half an hour or so of fighting traffic, they all arrived outside of Japan's home, none the worse for wear with France's driving. There were cameras set up all over the house, and as soon as the two nations of whom they were spying on entered through Japan's door, Russia had to smirk. The sight was that of a fretful Japan unlocking the door, quietly begging America to let him help, but all the girl did was laugh in response. In the girl's arms was a very large, heavy looking box, one that would have clearly been far too heavy for her had she been a normal human.

But as it was, she didn't seem to mind the weight at all, although Japan fussed with her at letting him help. America just laughed and started throwing the box up into the air, which must have weighted between one hundred fifty to two hundred pounds. "Hahaha! Don't worry, dude, this is totally light, see?"

"Please, America-san, do not break all that!" Japan reached out, looking both worried for whatever he had in the box as well as for America's general safety. Russia just snorted. Didn't that stupid little man realize that that wouldn't hurt her? That, for whatever reason, she had been blessed with an outrageous amount of strength and she could handle herself?

All the box ended up being was a ton of equipment that they would be using to test the newest video game out with, which they had set up in no time. "Please, make yourself comfortable, America-san," Japan invited graciously. "I will go and get us dinner."

"Awesome, dude," the girl reply a bit distractedly, as she was turning on the large, flat screen television and the X-box while almost literally drooling as she held the game in her hands. She hugged the case to her chest and looked upwards. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she muttered.

"Hmm…maybe we should have just set her up with a video game instead of a man?" France observed drily.

But soon enough, Japan came back out with a large spread of sushi he must have prepared earlier that day, and set the tray down on the table in front of the television. "All right!" America exclaimed, grabbing a piece off the tray. "Thanks, man!" But before Japan could reassure her that it was no trouble, the girl was speaking again. "Over the lips and through the gums, look out stomach, 'cause here it comes!"

Next to Russia, England sighed in a mix between disgust and exasperation. "All those lessons I gave her about proper etiquette, and this is all that's to show for it. Where did I go wrong?"

"By keeping her," France snorted, smiling a bit cruelly at his neighbor's parental suffering. "You should have just let me have her, then she would have turned out to be the lady she was always meant to be."

"You're just a sick pervert," England hissed, "and I would have _never _left you alone with her to corrupt her with your immoral and indecent ways!"

"I would have _never_—"

"Oh, be quiet," Canada frowned at both of his old caretakers. "Just shut up and watch the screen, eh."

For the next several minutes, there was really nothing all that special happening. America was stuffing her face with the sushi and Japan looking uncomfortable as he double checked to see if all the gaming equipment was set up and functional before he and America could go ahead and begin. Russia sneered at the Japanese man as he seemed to look everywhere but at America as she blathered away about one thing or another that no one really care about.

At last, everything seemed set, and the two nations began a fierce battle in gaming, America's smile slowly melting from her face the more into the game that she got. Soon, the girl's face was a mask of pure concentration, her manner even a bit angry as she twisted not only her hands every which way, but her whole body, as though she could actually make the character do as she was doing in her movements. Japan, in contrast, sat almost completely still, though his fingers were nearly a blur as he moved them about the controller.

Together, the two made for a very awkward couple. America was in a constant state of motion, even yelling at the screen every so often as she sat up, slumped back, stood up, sat on the floor, went back to sit on the couch, would lean from side to side. Japan sat nearly stone still, his face just as blank as always. But the differences that Ivan beheld were not just in their gaming styles, no, but in their very persons. America was tall, blonde haired and blue eyed, her skin a healthy pale golden color. She liked to laugh and smile more than anything else in the world, and she was not afraid to show what she was feeling. She was fiercely strong and independent, and played in the spotlight. Japan was short with black hair, dark eyes, and pale skin. He was more reserved, did not show his true feelings most of the time, even had problems with getting angry with certain people. Japan liked to stay out of the limelight for the most part, liked to sit quietly and observe.

How could these two ever be together? Ivan frowned, not just in confusion as the two nations on the screen battled out whatever game they were testing. They were probably the two best gamers of the nations, though Japan was probably better than the other, though America would fiercely defend her skills. They liked eating sushi together, and both found the other's culture extremely fascinating, but that wasn't the basis for love. Being curious about someone else's culture was just natural, nothing to form too strong a relationship over. _Besides_, the Russian thought haughtily. _I haven't shown her Moscow yet_.

At last, the game seemed to have ended, the screen in front of the other two nations was flashing brightly. America sat with her mouth open in shock while Japan was wearing a slight smirk.

"NO!" America screeched, standing up. "No, no, no, no, no!" she threw down the controller onto the couch probably harder than what was good for it. "Of all the sneaky, no good, lousy—"

She carried on in her mini-rampage, stomping about the room, even cursing at the game, for about five minutes before she finally ended by flipping it off as she flopped back down on the couch next to Japan, her arms crossed moodily over her chest as she glared out at nothing. Japan had apparently seen America in such a state before, and didn't seem fazed. "Did you like the game?" the Japanese man asked instead, making sure to keep his expression particularly neutral when dealing with the American's volatile temper.

"Are you kidding?" America sat up, looking completely surprised. "I _loved _it!" she exclaimed with a smile. "I haven't gotten that into a game in a _long _time! That was just freakin' awesome!"

Japan smiled slightly, looking quite pleased. Too pleased, Ivan though. "I am glad," the Asian nation nodded. "Would you like to play again?"

"Not right now," America shook her head. "I need to get my blood pressure down again. Can we play a more relaxed game?"

"_Hai_. What would you like?"

The girl sat a moment, thinking. "You got _Tetris_? That's always more calm…except when you get to the upper levels, 'cause then it's just tense when everything gets way faster and junk…but yeah, you got that?"

The man frowned a moment before getting up and looking through his game collection. Although he really shouldn't have, Russia found himself smiling again. How humiliating must it be for Japan to know that no matter how fancy his games were, America still went back to the Russian classics? Oh, yes, it pleased Ivan very much.

"Why isn't he doing anything?" Hungary asked impatiently behind Russia. "All he's done so far is just let her play with her games."

"I think he was trying my approach," Spain answered. "You know, get her relaxed and happy before going in for the strike…though at least Japan doesn't have any nudist beaches anywhere…"

"_Ve_, I think he's doing good!" Italy spoke up. "At least he got her really tasty food!"

"Maybe he should get her drunk?" France smirked. "That would be fun for everyone."

Ivan tuned out the rest as England and France started bickering behind him again. If only he could swing his pipe more efficiently in such close quarters. It would be _so _much more quiet that way.

As the two gamers went on, completely unaware of the arguing just outside, Japan finally spoke up. "America-san, I…I need to tell you something."

America, too into her game, didn't even bother to turn and look at her friend, whose face had turned bright pink. "Yeah? What's that?"

Japan was silent for a moment, as though collecting his courage. "I…I believe I like you, America-san."

"Cool," America answered flatly, as she continued to stare at the screen. "I knew that, but in case you forgot, I like you too, buddy." Her smile suggested that she was fondly amused with her friend's seemingly random words, but she was too absorbed in her game to actually think about what was being said.

Russia watched with apt attention, his hands sweating, his heart pounding, as Japan paused the game, confusing the American. The blonde finally turned to stare at her friend confusedly. "Hey, man, what are you—" In an instant, everything went still before Hungary started squealing, Italy and Spain cheering after her while the others were too stunned to do anything.

In reality, it only lasted a second or two, but those few seconds seemed to last an eternity for Ivan. The moment the Russian saw Japan lean forward and take the American's lips with his, a hot, putrid hatred flooded through Russia's heart like a tsunami wave. New, strange sensations nearly overwhelmed the Russian, as he stared blankly at the screen, leaving him feeling strangely trapped, as he didn't know what to do. Instinct told him to go crush Japan, yet reason told him that he couldn't do it. He couldn't do it because he wasn't even sure why he was feeling the way he was! The vehicle dropped at least ten degrees.

America, in contrast, looked absolutely stunned, before she quickly took action and pushed the island nation away from her with more force than was probably necessary. Her face was a brilliant red while Japan's own was pink. She sat gawking at him for a few seconds, her mouth working to say something, but no words came out. She brought a slightly shaking hand to her lips before she seemed to come out of her surprise.

"W-what the hell was that?" she exclaimed, unable to completely look Japan in the eyes.

The island nation was in a similar position, where he wasn't sure where to look or how to proceed. "I-I told you I liked you," he replied in a small voice.

"Well, yeah, but not like that!" For a moment, it almost appeared as though America would run from the room. "I-I'm sorry, Kiku, but I'm—oh man!—but I'm just…not interested... Romantically, I mean!"

Japan didn't say a word.

"I'm sorry!" America went on, rushing in order to save her friend's feelings, no doubt. "Aww, please don't look like that, dude! You look sadder than a red balloon tied to a fence post out in the middle of nowhere! I just…I just don't like you like that is all…"

An awkwardness descended upon the pair, and Russia, despite feeling a bit better now that the others were no longer lip-locked and America had outright rejected Japan, still felt angry for whatever reason and needed desperately to do something. He didn't want to sit in the truck anymore.

"Is there anyone else?" at last Japan spoke, Hungary cheering him on, though there were tears in her eyes on his behalf.

America looked flabbergasted, once more turning a rather vivid shade of crimson before she looked away, running a nervous hand through her hair. "I don't see what that has anything to do with this." At Japan's agonized look, the girl's hard expression cracked slightly. "No," she said quickly. "I'm not with anyone or anything like that, man, it's just…Oh, dude, I already told you! What do you want me to tell you? 'It's not you, it's me'?"

It seemed that Japan wasn't going to say anything, and America looked about ready to go into a fit and run away, like she had in Spain, when suddenly, the door burst open to the house. Both occupants, as well as everyone in the truck, jumped nearly out of their skin, except for Ivan, who watched with bitter amusement. He wondered why it had to be so cynically ironic that he had not planned for the intruder to come just a little bit sooner.

"_Aiya_!" came the cry from behind. "Japan! What are you doing-_aru_? You were supposed to meet with me today!"

The island nation turned to stare at his relative, actually showing surprise. "C-China-san? What are you doing here? I did not have a meeting sched—"

"Is this the kind of treatment you show to your elders?" China cried, looking furious. "I had to come all the way here when you didn't show up-_aru_!"

"But I didn't schedule a meeting," Japan held his hands up in an almost surrender-type fashion.

The two brothers began fighting about the miscommunication, China furiously yelling, Japan calmly, yet firmly, expressing his belief that China was mistaken. During this time, America stood up, grabbed her things, looking highly uncomfortable, and not just because of the two arguing nations. Before she left, she stopped and stared back at the two fighting nations, her face still flushed with embarrassment, looking as though she wanted to say something, wanted to help them out, but was too discomfited to do anything else.

"Guess I'll be leaving now," she called, but neither China nor Japan heard her. And so she left, and once more, yet another date had been ruined thanks to unfortunate and untimely accidents, along with America's own squeamishness.

As the conspirators drove away, to go check into their hotels for the night, Ivan found he could not get the sour taste to leave his mouth, no matter how much vodka he drank that night. As he laid down that night for to sleep, he kept seeing the scene of Japan and America kissing playing over and over again. No matter how he tossed and turned, he couldn't stop the image from coming to him or calm his racing heart as it flooded with fury and acrimony.

He didn't sleep well that night.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Guess who messaged China. :P

One question that keeps occurring that I realized I never actually addressed because it was in my mind and I just assumed everyone else could see it too: Prussia and Germany are not blood related in this. I guess I should have made that more clear in my other notes. ^^" If you noticed the language I used, never once do they refer to each other as "brother" or "sister" it's always by their names or "East" "West". I used the term "brother-nation" last chapter for the fact that they may not be blood, but they still have strong ties to one another.

How can I possibly make the Germans not related, you ask? It's all in "Creative History~". Because if you believe Germany= HRE, you can make an argument that HRE and France are actually brothers while Prussia was just a conquered territory by the Holy Roman Empire later. I can then keep Germany and Prussia's tie to one another close, and they end up being "siblings" since Prussia founded the German Empire in 1871.

…So yeah, they're not related. Incest is weird, but I have to admit, I do like the idea of Germancest (without the incest) because if you do believe Prussia became East Germany and all, and even before, the two did merge, it could be argued that there was a "marriage between the old Prussia and the young Germany" to quote propaganda of WWII. …So yeah, "Creative History". Country relationships are MUCH more complicated than Hetalia makes it appear, so relationships are fair game for scrutinizing and manipulating, I say. ^^

**Russian: **Если ты можешь это прочитать, ты – коммуняга—(like) "If you can read this—you're a commie." (** Thanks DoktorZeirmit. ^^ You're so awesome for translating such a weird phrase for me~) Добрый день-_ Dobry den- Good afternoon. _Спокойной ночи- _Spokoinoi nochi-_ Goodnight.

P.S. I didn't mean to offend any Russians or former Soviets out there, I just thought America would be thoughtless in her pursuit to be funny…sort of like me when I thought to have it. -_-" But it's all in good fun. I really adore the Russian culture, actually, so hope no one's too peeved with me about this. ^^"

'**Nother Note: **Thanks again everyone for all the awesome reviews/ suggestions/ mini history lessons. As you all might have guessed by now, Germany's up next!


	9. Chapter 9: Oktoberfest Blowout

**Chapter Nine: Oktoberfest Blowout**

Since coming home from Japan, Russia decided that it would be prudent to start working up some sort of curse against the island right away so that maybe it would take affect soon. His curses were always late, you see, but maybe if he came up with a good one, it would go into affect faster than his other ones had in the past. Maybe if he willed it more strongly, since he felt particularly infuriated with the Japanese man, it would only take a few months? It was worth a shot.

Whatever it ended up being, however, Ivan was still angry with the small island nation, even over a month after the excursion with all the conspirators. He had heard word through the grapevine—aka: Hungary—that American hadn't spoken to any other nations for at least a week's time after her venture to Asia. Russia wasn't sure if that was all due to "The Kiss", or if she had had other plans that just simply didn't involve other nations… He bet it was The Kiss.

For some odd reason, that stupid kiss upset Ivan more than he knew it logically should. It wasn't that he was squeamish or anything when it came to seeing public displays of affection, that _certainly _wasn't the problem, but all Russia could figure out was that it bothered him that those two people he had seen were involved in The Kiss that he just couldn't get over. But why was that?

He hated Japan, he disliked America, and seeing them kiss had upset him. Did that make any sense? No. Why should he care what happened with either of them? They were friends, had been for quite some time, and if they wanted to slobber all over each other, well then, that was their business.

Yet, Ivan came to realize slowly that maybe he didn't dislike America as much as he once had. No, he had actually come to enjoy his conversations with her, in part. Her bright smiles were something that the Russian didn't get to experience often, but he found that they were cheerful. It made him feel a little less lonely.

Actually, America herself always had that affect on him, not just her smiles. Because whether they were fighting or speaking calmly to one another, America still remembered him, still talked to him and held an always interesting conversation. She did not run and cower like the others when speaking to him, she did not cry at the sight of him. Instead, she was confident, bold, and even her cockiness was interesting to Ivan, as it was mainly what allowed her to stand before him so arrogantly without batting an eyelash as he would make threats to her, which she wouldn't even back down from.

America was different. America was special. It was because of this that Russia hated the thought of Japan ever laying a finger on her. She was too good for Japan, or at least Ivan thought so, and even though they were not close, Russia still knew that the blonde needed someone else, someone more suited to herself. Sadly enough, the only nation that came to mind that could possibly hope to win or deserve America's affections, was Germany.

Sitting back in his office chair, the Slav sighed as he opened his laptop. He had changed the picture from the horrified face of America when she had seen the nude man on the beach of Barcelona to a photo of her playing in the water, smiling happily with her hair falling out of its ponytail, half wet. She looked so young and vigorous in the picture, so sunny and full of life. That's why Ivan liked it. It captured the youthful spirit of America, the true almost wild beauty of the nation, so unafraid. She was just a big child. He had never gotten to be such a child, but it made him smile, knowing that someone, even if it was America, had.

Ivan continued to stare at the picture until one of the secretaries came in, shaking a bit, before she dropped off one of the folders he was supposed to review. The big man sighed once she was gone. Couldn't they hire anyone that _wasn't _afraid of him? Someone that _didn't _shake when they got near him? He didn't even understand why his own people were still afraid of him. True, under Stalin, and even a little under Khrushchev, Russia had been forced to turn against his own people at times, but that Russia was in the past. It was sad, however, that such stories and details remain so imprinted into the minds of mortals for years to come. He wondered if the others had the same problem with their pasts creeping up on them.

Grabbing the folder, the Slav looked through it almost boredly, before throwing it aside. He wasn't in the mood to go through paperwork, he wanted to _do _something. Something real and meaningful. He wasn't used to always being cooped up as he was. When he had had his satellite states, he'd always been traveling, always making sure that he could watch over them. Although many wouldn't believe it, Ivan really only missed his Soviet Union because he wanted the community back; he'd wanted to end his loneliness forever. It was just sad that a slight bout of insanity after the Revolution, dictators, and America had gotten in his way to keeping that family.

The insanity had come under the pressure of the peoples' rising dissatisfaction with the Tsars and those who remained loyal to the Tsars. The tensions between the working and upper class had nearly torn Russia apart, and it had been when he'd been forced to fire at his own people that that nation had just lost it. He'd turned around and started killing some of the soldiers in return to try and make up for killing the civilians and protesters. It had been bloody, it had been horrifying, and it had been too much for the Russian to bear.

It was only after the Revolution, when Lenin had come, that Ivan had started to gain back some control over himself. Brief bouts of insanity were quite common for nations, actually, when they are so torn between their people's wants and needs and the orders of their leaders. So when Lenin had come and began cooling things off, Russia had slowly, very slowly, began to recover a bit and evened himself back out. But then, of course, Stalin had come into power, and having an unstable man at the head of the government didn't prove well for the nation who had been trying to recover himself.

And while America had certainly been an annoying pain— especially after WWI when she had actually sent troops to _attack _him and his new communist government, the real beginnings of the Cold War— her special brand of irritation, while on the surface appeared to have inflamed his insanity, had actually helped anchor him in reality. It had taken some time and many hours of thinking on Ivan's part to come to this conclusion, but once he went back through his memories, he realized just how much America had actually steadied him during those years. In an odd, twisted sort of way, that is.

After the Second World War, the two great Superpowers had been locked in a series of tense stalemates that could have potential led to the end of the world. Russia, while as the Stalinist Terror State, had been unstable for years— WWII not helping to improve the poor nation's sanity— and America's own composure slipped in the 50's and 60's when the Cold War was at its peak. Both Superpowers were by all rights too powerful for the world at that time, both hostile and aggressive with too many weapons and soldiers at their disposal. It was inevitable that with their polar opposite views of the world coming crashing together, that there would be conflict.

Yet despite all that, the two Superpowers had formed a balance, as tense and anxious as that might have been, but a balance nonetheless. They had been too aggressive in the first half of the Cold War, too willing to start something. They had needed something to focus on, Russia so that he could channel his hatred and remain alert so that his insanity was controlled so that he was reminded that there were consequences for his actions; America, because she needed to assert her authority and prove that she did belong as a leader, needed to act out her tendency to control and be "the hero." They, of course, had both made stupid mistakes, had caused so much trouble, but in the end, they had not completely destroyed the world. They had balanced well until one of them couldn't anymore, and had allowed what very well could have been the greatest disaster in the history of the world, to fizzle into nothing but common, national tensions.

Yes, in a strange way, America's aggressive assertion into the world had kept Ivan anchored to the actuality while being a Terror State in the beginning of his communist regime. In return, he had given her a target in which she could prove to the world that she was a great western power, and to come into the world as the hero she had so longed to be after her isolationist past. Their relationship was not all that good, no, but at the same time, it had been beneficial in odd ways. It had kept Ivan from being easily swallowed up and destroyed in his time of great confusion.

Sighing once more, Ivan looked at the picture on his laptop and really focused on it. He could make out some of the scars that littered America's body. Scars were tricky things in the national world. Personifications' bodies were not like humans', and broken bones or cuts that occurred by accidents performing normal, mundane things healed quickly and left no trace of ever having been there at all. Wars were what scarred nations, economic troubles, revolutions, civil wars, plagues. America was young, she had only suffered one civil war in her history, one revolution, one complete, great economic disaster, and the worst wars and conflicts she had endured had not even occurred on her own soil, so her skin was relatively clear of marring compared to someone like Russia, but she still had them.

There was one scar that Russia noted that by all accounts should not have remained on the girl. He knew it should not be there because he had been the one to wound her. It had been after the First World War, the only time Russians and Americans had actually fought, that it had happened. Ivan had not been well, physically or mentally at the time, and had caught America scouting one night in the woods, and they had fought one another. He had stabbed a knife into her left shoulder, near her heart, cursing her for trying to bring back the Tsars. She had pulled it out quickly after kicking him in the jaw hard enough that it broke. While Ivan had been stunned, she had somehow managed to get away. He had almost followed her, had almost gone to discover her camp, but in the end, he had let her go. Why, he wasn't sure even to this day.

That conflict in the early twentieth century had been brief, really nothing that should be able to seriously harm a nation, yet it had America. The scar was still there, not as prominent as others, but was there all the same. There was no reason that it should be there. Was it due to the fact that it had been so close to her heart? Had it really been such a nearly mortal wound? But then again, nations didn't put too much value on their organs. Russia's own heart could fall out and he never really suffered any devastating, lasting effects. So why then had that scar been left behind after a minor conflict that had been nearly one hundred years ago?

The cell phone buzzing startled Russia out of his musings, making him jump slightly. Looking down at it, it read "Hungary." Flipping it open, Ivan received a text message: _Bring your _bier steins _next week, it's date time at the _Oktoberfest_! _

Staring at the message, Ivan found himself shifting a bit uncomfortably. Germany. It wasn't like he hadn't thought that the sour blonde would be going soon—it would have either been him or Russia—but he was a little disappointed that _he _would be the one to go last. It really wasn't all that surprising, considering that everyone had probably been hoping America would have fallen in love with someone by now, therefore sparing her the torment of having to go out with her old rival, but he still couldn't help but feel a little down at being "picked last."

And there was the fact that Ivan was getting pretty nervous that America would actually fall for Germany. Sure, the blonde was tough and manly, and pretty much everything a woman like America would look for in a man, but there was still something very much lacking between their two personalities. Germany was too serious to be romantically interested in a silly girl like America. He was an old soul in a young body, while America was a child in a Superpower's position. Little girls could look up to and admire mature men, but mature men rarely took the time looked down at childish girls.

This had the potential for ending in heartbreak. Prussia was very much interested in Germany, Germany had been interested in Prussia, but what if America truly was interested in Germany as well? Would he snub her in pursuit of the albino, or would he crush his old caretaker's heart, not knowing what to do should the younger nation be attracted to him?

It was another torturous week before fate would reveal itself to them.

**oOoOoOo**

For the first time since the competition began, it was not the hosting nation that picked up the guests as they arrived, but rather Austria and Hungary. During the car ride to the festival, Hungary had explained that Germany wasn't even aware that he had been chosen to take America out on a date this week since he had not responded to any of her calls or messages. Instead, she had decided that the German would be out and about anyway so she could take the liberty of inviting America on Germany's behalf and set everything up. This way, she explained, the blonde had nothing to worry about except when America came and he just had to win her over. Ivan wasn't the only one that thought the idea was probably the worst one the woman had conjured during this whole competition, but there was little anyone could do about it now.

Traveling through Munich during Oktoberfest was proving to be a complete and total disaster all its own. There were so many people from all over the nation, as well as the world, all coming to concentrate in one place for the celebration. Roads were closed, streets blocked, and anyone in a vehicle was pretty much screwed. Traffic was backed up and besides the fear of never finding a parking space, there was the extra worry of trying not to hit drunken pedestrians as they walked/stumbled from one side of the road to the other. It was probably the best time that Germany should have been driving, but he was not even present in the van, so the responsibility had fallen to Austria. They all figured it would be all right seeing as Hungary sat up in the front with him to give him directions, and since traffic was so slow, there was no way he could have missed any exits.

Sitting in the back between Canada and Spain, Russia took the time to send hateful glares Japan's way. The smaller man still seemed out of spirits, even though more than a month had gone by since his own date with America—and still Ivan's curses hadn't worked yet!

How stupid of the island nation to truly believe that he could have stood a chance with America. How very pathetic that he was even now pining silently away, though he was doing his damndest to hide it. Foolish man. The number one rule when dealing with America was to never give her your heart. Britain had once, others in part, and what had the girl done? She had crushed them, rejected anyone who had tried to get too close to her. America was a free spirit, trying to tame her, trying to keep her down was like tying a noose around the neck of the wind. It was useless and would only make her resentful. That was why this was all useless, why none of the contestants had been able to win the girl over. She was still so wild, free. And that was why, Ivan realized suddenly, he couldn't bear to see anyone with her. It would be like watching the death of the wind.

"Look!" Italy cried as he stood up, pointing out of the front, scaring Austria out of his wits, as the brunette had been concentrating so avidly on the traffic. "It's Germany!"

Everyone save Japan, who was a little too busy moping, looked to where the Italian was pointing. There was a large blonde man in _lederhosen_ with a beer stein walking towards a booth. After a minute of squinting, France sighed. "That's not Germany."

"Yes it is!" Italy pouted. "It has to be!"

"We're in Germany during Oktoberfest, _mon ami_," France sighed, shaking his head a bit. "There's bound to be lots of tall blonde men walking around like that."

"But how do you know _that's _not him?" the younger nation cocked his head to the side.

"Because, _mon petit,_ Germany is much bulkier than that man."

"How do you know how bulky Germany is?" England questioned, looking disgusted. "Do you have some sort of sick fantasy of him, or something, that you've memorized his profile?"

"'Fantasy,' _non_," France shook his head. "Nightmares? Of course. I've fought him enough, and quite frankly, been beaten up by him enough to know that a skinny man such as that could not be our _charming_ German friend," he replied dryly.

"Ah…right," Britain nodded, unable to dispute the fact.

"Oh! Is that him?" Spain asked, sitting up, pointing to a different man in the distance.

"I'm not sure," Hungary frowned, sitting forward, squinting as she tried to make out the man that was hidden mostly by the large crowd. "We've come to a standstill in traffic, I say we all get out and look for Germany while Austria finds a place to park."

"Are you even sure Germany's in this area to begin with?" Canada spoke up, frowning. "He doesn't know we're going to be here, and you can't get a hold of him. What if he's way on the other side of the festival or if he hadn't even come today?"

Everyone stared at the young nation as though he had suddenly grown a horn in the middle of his head. "Lad," England spoke up, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, as though consoling him for his stupidity, "whenever there's a chance to celebrate German culture _and _drink lots of beer, Germany wouldn't skip out, even a _minute, _of such a festival."

Blushing, realizing his mistake, Canada swatted the hand of his old caretaker away. "But that doesn't mean he's around _here_. There's thousands of people, there's a good chance that we won't find him."

"That's why we'll split up," Hungary rolled her eyes. "Come on. Will you be all right parking while we go out searching?" she asked her ex-husband.

Austria scowled. "I'm only _parking_, I'll be perfectly fine," he huffed indignantly.

"Okay, we'll be back soon. Hopefully you'll still be around this area when we get back. It doesn't look like you'll be moving much," she mused, looking out over the bumper to bumper traffic jam.

And so, once out of the van, Ivan found himself in the midst of a bunch of drunken Germans, all smiling for once, as they toasted each other and guzzled the amber liquid down. It was amazing, actually, how most of them didn't even spill a drop as they stumbled about. Apparently beer was sacred here, on par with the blood of Christ, and to spill even a single drop would be sacrilegious. While Russia liked beer, he wasn't as crazy about it as the Germans. Vodka, on the other hand, now that was a whole different matter…

Pushing his way through the crowd, the tall personification found that he didn't seem to be having as much trouble navigating his way through the throng of folks as the others had, though it was challenging enough. It was at times like these that Ivan was actually thankful he was so tall and even bulky as he was more capable of clearing a path for himself. If his mere size didn't warn people to get out of his way, then the displeased purple aura surrounding him certainly scattered people just fine.

It was proving to be quite difficult to spot Germany through the mass of humans. While not everyone was wearing them, quite a few men were sporting _lederhosen_ for the event, and there were quite a few tall, well-build blondes in the crowd. It would have been like finding a needle in a hay stack had Ivan not realized one important thing: Where Germany was, Prussia would be sure to follow. He didn't have to look for a blonde man, all he had to do was look for an albino woman. Much easier!

Rescanning all of the places he had looked, double checking that he hadn't missed something, Ivan pressed forward, keeping his eyes open for any flashes of white. After about twenty minutes or so of fighting the crowd, Russia was about to give up, when white hair twisted in intricate braids caught his attention. Sure enough, he spotted the former state of Prussia, and with her was the blonde everyone was hunting for.

It occurred to Russia as he made his way over to the two conversing Germans, that the Prussian might not be supposed to know about the arrangements made for Germany and America. The woman had gotten pretty jealous when the women had all gone to Hungary's slumber party when she believed America was after the blonde. Although there was a small voice in Ivan's head telling him to ruin this, taunt his old enemy, there was a stronger voice whispering reason and told the Slav to wait.

If things went poorly between Germany and Prussia again, that could affect with how this date would turn out. If the albino fussed enough, Germany might just give up on her and really focus his attention on America, if just to make the older woman jealous, and that, in turn could lead to America falling for the blonde man. That, or the former Teuton could go on a rampage and stab America in the throat. Neither option sounded particularly good for Ivan's interests. He didn't want America to get stabbed or her going after Germany as that meant it would take her attention away from him. The happy young nation had just started to become more friendly to Russia, and he found he didn't want to lose that.

Creeping up behind the two Germans carefully, Ivan waited, listening so that he could perhaps get Germany alone and talk to him about Hungary's plan without setting off the Prussian. Though, Russia was painfully aware of how his presence would affect the albino should she see him.

The two nations sat at a table, keeping mostly to themselves, each one nursing a measure of beer. They were rather quiet, a discomfited shroud seemed to hover over them, as though this was the first time in a long while since they had stopped fighting and were actually getting along. It surprised the Slav; these two were so close, had his little prank really caused this much trouble?

"It's nice to get out and take a break from working," Germany said stiffly, trying to start a conversation, though he was painfully awkward with the whole "socializing" thing.

"_Ja_," was all the albino said as she took a drawl of beer.

The blonde looked desperate to try and come up with something to respond with, but it was obvious that he couldn't think of anything good. "You look nice in your _dirndl_," he blurted out. A slight pink dusting his cheeks as the woman stared at him blankly. "I-I mean, of course you look nice, but…uh…is that the one you'd had made when you'd taken me on that picnic when I was little?"

Red eyes studied her former charge carefully, before she seemed to take pity on Germany's pathetic floundering and nodded, melting a little of her still quite fridge demeanor. "Yeah. It is. I didn't think you'd remember."

"Of course I would," the large personification said instantly, seemingly relieved that he was making progress. "Well, it's nice you can still find a reason to wear it."

Always so practical, thinking about how much use she'd get out of an object. Ivan snorted. How very German of him.

"Listen, West," Prussia set down her beer and stared straight into the blonde's eyes. "I hate how long we've been fighting, but I just have to know, once and for all, what's the deal with you and America? I…I don't care if you like her"— a blatant lie—"but I just want to know what's going on. We promised each other not to keep big secrets, right? Just tell me why everyone seems to think you're going after her?"

The blonde looked uncomfortable, but also determined. It gave Ivan a hope he hadn't known he needed. Germany was still very serious about his intentions towards the albino. He still was not interested in pursuing America! Now America could be free and Russia didn't have to worry about anyone taking her away.

"There's _nothing _going on between the two of us," Germany stated firmly, staring at his other half directly. "Whatever you heard was ridiculous with no basis. Any dealings I have with America are strictly professional."

Relief flittered over the albino's features like sunbeams through an open window. The Prussian's tense carriage lessoned as she began to relax. It made Ivan wondered if it was all due to the blonde's words releasing her anxiety or if the beer had something to do with it. But Prussia was nothing if not stubborn, and she eyed the blonde once more, harboring only the tiniest bit of doubt that she wasn't even putting her heart into. "Is there anything else? Anything at all you're not telling me?"

"Nothing at all," the western half of the nation said without blinking an eye, apparently forgetting about the whole "contest" all together.

"Okay then," the albino said slowly, a small smile appeared on her lips. "Well, let's not sit around and brood, let's get to drinking!" She raised her glass and Germany quickly lifted his to clink against hers, smiling all the while, as they both took a long drink.

With the two halves of the country reconciled, Russia was beginning to think that perhaps he should just go back to the van and lie about having found them, when he heard someone call out. "Russia! There you are."

The Slav froze and turned back in time to see Hungary making her was towards him. Looking back over his shoulder, Ivan realized that the two Germans had also spotted him now. Damn his height!

Germany turned whiter than the albino beside him as Hungary's eyes fell on him. "H-Hungary?" he sputtered. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Great work, Russia!" Hungary came up and slapped Ivan on the back merrily. "You've found him!"

"Just what the hell is going on here?" the Prussian demanded, glaring from Hungary, to Russia, to even Germany, with whom she had just reconciled with not a minute ago.

Hungary didn't seem the least bit perturbed by the albino's anger and turned towards the blonde. "Come on, Germany! We've got to set up before your date with America."

Germany looked close to fainting and Russia found he couldn't suppress all of his anger. Thoughtless, thoughtless woman! She had just ruined everything! "_Kolkolkolkol_!"

Prussia snapped her attention to the blonde man next to her, crimson eyes glowing with sorrow, betrayal, hatred, and many others that burned into her western counterpart's marrow. Germany worked his mouth, trying to get something out, to perhaps explain the details he'd forgotten, but it was too late.

_SLAP!_

Everyone around them, personifications and humans, stared as the echo of the blow seemed to reverberate off of everything. The younger German stood frozen, an ugly red handprint forming on his cheek as he stared in shock down into the livid face of the albino, looking hurt. Slowly, he raised a hand and tenderly touched the spot where she had slapped him.

"I can't believe you!" the Prussia nearly screamed. "You sat here and you lied to me! You lied to my _face_, you…you…_Arschmade_!"

Tears stood out in her eyes. This woman never cried unless she was truly, deeply suffering. For the first time in his life, Ivan found himself feeling sorry for her.

Before anyone could have done anything, the Prussia ran off, pushing her way through the thick throng of people. "Wait! _Preuβen_!" Germany snapped out of his stunned trance, and began going after the albino, when Hungary stepped in his way.

"I'm sorry, Germany, but we don't have time for this," the brunette had the grace to look a little guilty. "She'll be fine, but right now we've got to get ready for your date. America will be here soon, and—"

The large blonde stared down at the older woman incredulously before his features distorted into an ugly, hatful glare, the likes of which Russia hadn't seen since the day he'd taken the albino away to live in the Soviet Union. Hungary actually shrank back. "Date?" Germany chocked out. "_Date_? Who the fuck said anything about me…I never even agreed to…you all just _threatened _me to…I was finally…Do you have any idea what you've done?" he snarled, stalking forward, a murderous gleam in his icy eyes. If looks could kill, Hungary would have been struck down within a millisecond, impaled with an icy dagger from the German's eyes.

"I…I just thought, I-I mean, we said that we'd all…" Hungary stuttered.

Germany continued towards the woman, even lifted a fist as though he was going to strike her, a force that would have surly sent the brunette's head rolling, and Russia wasn't sure he would stop it. But as the German was standing over the other nation ominously, visibly shaking with barely repressed furry, slowly he brought his fist down, clenching his teeth together so hard, Ivan was surprised they didn't crack under the sheer pressure. It was actually amazing to be able to physically see how the blonde reigned in his legendary temper.

With his fist now clenched down at his waist, mirroring his other side, the younger nation closed his eyes and took several deep breaths before he seemed to be able to handle looking at the woman before him. When he revealed those blue orbs, they were still hard, frozen in poorly disguised anger. He let out a shuddered sighed. "Okay," he said after another moment. "Okay." He took off his hat and slicked back his immaculate hair out of habit. "Let's just get this over with."

The complete turnaround in the man's behavior gave Ivan whiplash, but as Hungary's green eyes lit up with relief, Russia's narrowed in suspicion. "O-oh, well," the woman cleared her throat. "Okay, w-well, let's just go. Um…they're all waiting for us.

The blonde nodded stiffly before following Hungary, his shoulders painfully square. Russia followed behind, feeling a bit uneasy at how completely unreadable the German had become. The last time he had seen the German like this was after they had made the Nazi-Soviet Non-Aggression Pact of 1939. This would not bode well, Ivan was sure.

They made it back to the van, it not having gotten much farther than when they'd left nearly an hour ago. Germany managed to pull some weight and got the van a parking space. He informed everyone that the van could not get any closer and they were going to have to move their equipment into a nearby building if they were going to be able to pick up anything.

Italy and Spain were elated that the blonde was willing to play the game while France frowned and England looked uneasy, the latter two having perhaps had enough dealings with Germany's behavior to know that something was not right. Japan and Canada seemed a little confused as to how oddly the economic powerhouse was acting, while Hungary would not look at Austria, who apparently had a pretty good idea as to what had happened. The nervousness never left the air.

With Germany's help, they were allowed into a nearby computer store and set up quickly in a back room as the day's suitor texted America directions. The blonde contestant told them that he and America would stay at the tent just outside of the store so that the camera would be able to pick up their actions. The others agreed, but Russia was a bit hesitant. He just didn't like that look in the German's eyes…

In half an hour, America showed up, smiling and looking around the whole festival, her eyes bright. She was wearing a _dirndl_ that she had probably gotten for the occasion. Germany stood to welcome her, his face carefully calm and composed.

"_Guten Tag_, dude!" America called, waving at the other nation, her voice chipper and happy, causing the Slav to wince.

Germany didn't even raise an eyebrow to the slight perversion of his language, and smiled a small, charming sort of smile, the likes of which had only been seen when the blonde was particularly confident about some sort of business deal. "_Guten Tag, Amerika_," he nodded. "I'm pleased that you found me so easily."

"Well, you gave me good directions," she smiled before sitting down across from him. A waitress came by then, handing out beers, and Germany paid for two. "Awesome!" the girl cried as she took a liter.

The two blondes took a long drink of beer together. America stopped when about a third was gone, but Germany guzzled down the whole thing before turning back to the _biergarten _girl and grabbed another one as he paid her. The conspirators mumbled to one another, each impressed by the German's drinking abilities.

America whistled in appreciation. "Wow. You Germans _so_ know how to party!" she grinned. "Way to go!" she laughed.

Germany set down his glass none to gently, before turning towards the other blonde. "So what have you been up to lately, _Amerika_?"

The girl blushed slightly. "Not much…just saw Japan not too long ago."

"Hmm," the blonde man hummed, as though thinking something through. "Japan, eh? You've been traveling a lot lately, I hear. First England, then France, Spain, Italy, and then Austria for Hungary's party, right?"

The girl blinked. "How did you know?"

"Germany, what are you doing, _mon ami_?" France hissed into the microphone as everyone in the computer store began shifting uncomfortable.

The host just laugh, a harsh, barking noise. "I have my ways." America eyed him suspiciously. "So, why do you think I've asked you here today?" he went on, his grin seeming to grow as all the conspirators were growing uneasy, all whispering pleas for the German to stop while he was ahead.

"Are you drunk, man?" England cried.

America's eyes darkened slightly and her posture became stiff. "What do you mean? You invited me to come to the Oktoberfest."

"Out of the goodness of my heart, I'm sure," Germany drawled.

"What, are you saying you didn't want me to come?" the Superpower frowned, apparently not understanding the situation she was in.

"In not so many words," the other nation smirked. "But tell me, why _has _everyone been inviting you over lately? I would dearly love to know why you believe you've gotten so popular recently."

Now America was getting angry, Russia could see it just as plain as day. She coiled in on herself, posed to strike like a rattlesnake should the German prove hostile. "Not really sure," she answered honestly, her eyes narrowed. "Guess my change in attitude lately's been paying off and people are starting to take notice."

For the first time since the American had arrived, Germany's expression took on a pitying sort of appearance, like a father would look at his naïve child. "You really think it's just because they all wanted to be friends? How long have you lived in this world? You should know better than to trust others so explicitly."

"Listen, man," America sat forward, insult clearly defined on her features. "I don't know if you're drunk or what, but I came here on friendly terms, wanting to just get together and have a nice time since you and I haven't gotten along too well in the past, and since I've got a lot of your people at my place. If you got something to say to me, then don't beat around the bush, spit it out! I didn't come here to play twenty questions."

As Germany folded his hands on the table and leaned forward a little, his eyes finally break out of their false calm to reveal righteous malice, Ivan knew it was all over. The Slav turned to look at his still panicky conspirators, who as of yet, had not truly caught the true intentions of the blonde man.

"You and I," Germany began, his words crisp, "have both been tricked, I'm afraid."

"What?" America pulled back, not expecting those words.

"Just as I said," the other went on as though he did not hear the screams coming from his earphones. "You think everyone invited you over just to be nice? Just because they wanted to 'reconnect' or some other nonsense?" he snorted. America's face dropped. "_Nein_. For almost a year now, everyone's behavior, England, France, Spain, Italy, Japan's, they've all been part of a bet to see which one of them could make you fall in love with them."

America's face crumpled before she was able to pull herself back together. It was so fast that had one not been paying close attention, they might have missed it. But Russia saw it.

"I-I'm sorry?" the girl choked out.

"It was all a bet," Germany repeated firmly, apparently not giving a damn about anyone else at the moment. "They all wanted to see if they could make you fall in love with them, or some nonsense, and that's why they've all been acting like fools. Hungary's little get together was just her attempt at trying to get inside information on you that she could pass it off to the men."

America's breathing became heavier as she stared across at the German. She looked about helplessly for a moment, as though trying to find some sort of answer, before she looked back into cold blue eyes. "And what about you?" she asked. "Why are you telling me this? How did you find out all this?"

"Like I said," the German sighed. "I was just as much duped into this as you were. I never wanted to be a part of this plan, but they forced me, threatened me to play along and keep quiet. I didn't invite you here today, that was Hungary, I assume, or Austria." America winced as she heard yet another name added to her list of betrayers. "This whole competition's ruined so much for me, and I can't take it anymore. They don't have any more leverage over me, seeing as I've already lost what I was trying to protect." He stood, gazing down at the girl across from him. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I was just trying to protect someone else."

America stared up at the German, shaking a bit. "Prussia?" she asked after a moment.

The European looked surprised for a minute before nodding slowly. "Yes…They're all here right now, spying on you," he nodded towards the computer store. "They're in that store, in the back room. The door's unlocked should you want to confront them."

"Germany, you fool!" Austria yelled into the headset, as Italy wailed, gripping onto Spain.

"She's gunna be mad! She's gunna be mad and she's gunna hit me!" the Italian cried.

While the other nations were all scurrying about to try and pack everything together and get out of there, only then did Russia realize the genius behind Germany's calculated façade. He'd purposefully lured them into this trap. He set them up in a building so that they could not just drive away. He had specifically placed them here because there was no way out of the building without America being able to see them. They were trapped, and Germany, sly bastard, had led them all to their disgrace.

Watching the screen for her reaction, Russia saw the American looked torn between running away and trying to forget the whole mess and going to see if Germany was lying to her. "Thanks for telling me," she said quietly, as she too, stood.

"I'm sorry you had to find out this way," Germany's voice sounded sincere in his regrets. "And I'm sorry, but I need to find East."

America nodded and watched as the other personification vanished into the crowd. As the minutes crawled by, and the spies were all just then figuring out that there was no way out but through the front, America's breathing became heavier and heavier before she finally turned and stormed towards the building, her face a mask of rage.

"_Govno_," Ivan muttered.

Not a moment later, the door to the back room slammed open to reveal an absolutely livid American, blue eyes dark as a wave of fury washed over them all.

"You assholes!" she screamed. "I can't believe you would do this to me! I didn't even…" she trailed off as she spotted the one person in the room that everyone else usually over looked. The enraged expression dropped from America's face and was replaced by one of intense sorrow. The two siblings stared at one another for a moment, Canada holding up his hands, as though in an attempt to calm his little sister down, but he was unable to get any words out.

"You too, Mattie?" she whispered, betrayed, as tears beginning to stand out in her eyes.

"A-Amelia," Canada took a step forward before falling silent again, unable to say anything else. The others in the room were all too afraid to move or speak to the obviously distress Superpower.

Russia stood still in the corner, wishing he could do something, but knowing that in all honesty, he was probably the last person in the world that would be able to calm the American down. He shifted uncomfortably as the standoff continued, but the moment he moved, sharp blue eyes pinned him down, and a curious expression flashed over America's face as she stared at him, before the incensed look was back.

"I would have expected something like this from him," she jabbed a vicious finger Ivan's way, and he found his heart aching fiercely at the despair in her voice. "But not the rest of you! I-I thought you were all my friends!" she cried, before she turned around and did a very un-America like thing: She ran away. But not before Ivan missed the tears that slipped down her cheeks.

"Amelia! Wait!" Canada cried, running after his sister with England and France close behind. The others remained frozen for a moment longer before they grabbed the equipment quickly and headed to the van, all of them silent, too ashamed of themselves after seeing how much they had hurt America. They would all have to come to terms with what they did.

As the others left, Ivan found himself alone, strangely upset. This was not how he had wanted the game to end. In the beginning he could have cared less about how this could affect America, had even _hoped _that the girl might cry. But now that he had seen it, Russia never wanted to see that complete devastation on her face ever again. It made him feel cold. Empty.

Looking down, Russia realized that his heart had fallen out.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! You get a…very non-romantic, sad chapter...? It's a little long in celebration of my birthday that just passed, so I hope you enjoyed. ^^

If you noticed, there was a lot of history in this chapter (I love history too much to deny it from entering in my stories _ ) so if you have any questions, just ask. :)

**Thanks to Stavr45 for giving me the idea to delve deeper into my own theories about nations' insanity. It's my firm belief that all nations lapse into crazy episodes in their lives, but if you have any questions about my reasoning for this if it wasn't clear enough in the chapter, just ask. :)

**Russian: **_Govno_-говно: shit.

'**Nother Note: **Well, looks like the games up, but the story's not quite over. There's still a little more to come.

P.S. NoName, no worries about all the comments you left before. I actually enjoyed reading all the information you and Stavr game me. XD I wish I could respond to all your kind words! If you'd like to get in contact, let me know so I can thank you properly. You sound like an awesome person to talk to. :)

P.P. S. Thanks DA4TheFunOfIt! Gilbird was a great inspiration to me as I wrote this. ;)


	10. Chapter 10: Big Sister Knows Best

**Reading Note: **_Brat _is to be read: br-ah-t (like the German sausage). In Russian it means "brother."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ten: Big Sister Knows Best<strong>

Ukraine sighed for what felt like the millionth time as she held the phone at arm's length as the person on the other end was wailing. And here the day had started out so promising too. The sun was shining, the air was crisp with the beginning of winter approaching, and today's schedule had been relatively easy, easy enough that she could go home early and do her farm chores while it was still light out instead of stumbling around in the dark. Yes, it had all looked to be a pleasant sort of day.

But then, when she had gotten to work, she'd spilled her coffee down her shirt— which technically would have missed had her breasts not been in the way— and ruined her favorite white blouse completely. After that, a nervous secretary had informed her that the Russians were trying to get a hold of her again. She had been happy for just a split second before her boss reminded her that she still couldn't see her brother at this time. The separation from her siblings always left an ache in Katyusha's tender heart, but she knew that she could not go against her government. And after a meeting, which hadn't gone all that well, she had taken a phone call, in which she was _still _taking an hour later.

Sighing once more, Ukraine fidgeted with her stained blouse as she tried to think of something to say. "I-I'm sorry to hear all this, Hungary, but I really can't help you. Not if you don't even tell me what's gotten her so upset to begin with."

As the woman on the other end was bawling now, making Katyusha feel sorry for the poor Hungarian, there came a loud racket just outside of her door. Ukraine tried to block out the noise, even plugged a finger in her ear so that she could hopefully hear better so that she could manage to discern what it was exactly Elizabeta was saying to her in her incomprehensible weeping language. It didn't work.

The old nation huffed a bit with frustration. Really, did no one respect her? There had been a time when Ukraine was a powerful nation, when she had had real influence and people listened to her. She had been the one to care for her brother and sister, tried to stand between them and outside harm while being attacked herself. But that was all in the past, and everyone seemed to forget just what she had been like long ago. She had lost all of her authority it seemed. People couldn't even be bothered to be quiet outside of her door when they knew she was taking calls.

With Hungary sufficiently distracted with sobbing on the other end, showing no signs of ending her unintelligible blubbering, Ukraine decided that it was time to grow a backbone again, and firmly— but always politely— ask everyone outside to be quiet so she could hear the phone. The phone cord was long enough that she could make it around her desk. She placed a hand over the mouth piece and yelled—which was actually more like a polite raising of the voice—for everyone to _please _be quiet. "Thank you!" she called as an afterthought.

It seemed that her civility had actually paid off as the sounds from outside stilled. She smiled to herself, pleased, hoping that perhaps she still retained a little more authority than she'd originally thought, before trying once again to figure out what Hungary was trying to tell her. Just as she was about to respond to the poor woman on the other end suddenly, there was a loud _BANG! _followed by more shouting.

Katyusha jumped well off her feet in surprise, and cried out. She turned around just in time for her door to be slammed again, as a streak of grey came barreling towards her. She didn't even have time to blink before the phone was ripped out of her hands and she was picked up off the ground at least a good six inches.

When she was able to think again, having gotten over a bit of shock, Ukraine found herself trapped in the crushing, yet loving embrace of her younger brother. Russia had picked her up around the middle, and was holder her close, high enough so that he could bury his face in between her shoulder and breast, just like he had done as a little child when he had been particularly upset about something. "V-Vanya?" she asked, completely taken by astonishment. After all, it wasn't every day that a man with the proportions of leviathan came barging into her office and captured her in a suffocating hug.

Ivan didn't say a word, but in response to his sister's query, snuggled in closer to her, like an infant wanting to be rid of some sort of monster.

"M-Ms. Ukraine?" some of the office workers called out through the door, which her brother had apparently locked when he'd come in so that they would not be disturbed. "A-are you okay?"

In all honesty, Katyusha was not "okay." She was being crushed by her giant of a littlebrother, she could hear Hungary calling out, asking if she had hung up, she didn't know what was going on, and she was afraid that with her brother here, something terrible had happened. Hadn't they said that the Russians had been trying to get a hold of her over the past several weeks?

Or…it could have been that just _Russia _that had been trying to get a hold of her. Looking down at her baby brother, his face still buried in her chest, hiding from the world, Katyusha knew that if he was acting like this, he had not come here as Russia, the country. He was here as Ivan, and Ivan was extremely upset about something. It made her heart hurt.

"_Da_, I am fine," she called to the others outside her door, trying to calm them while stroking her brother's soft hair. "I-it's just a personal visit. I'm fine."

With them taken care of, she next turned her attention to Ivan, who was slowly, yet surely, squeezing all the air out of her lungs. "Vanya," she said gently. "You're going to need to put me down now, please."

Childishly, the Russian merely shook his head, not bothering to even lift his face from her shoulder. Sighing for the million and second time that day, Ukraine managed to place both hands on the man's shoulders and squeezed them lightly. "Come on, Vanya. I can't help you if you don't put me down and explain what happened." Strange how often she seemed to have need to say that phrase to everyone lately: Natalia, Elizabeta, Ivan…

Ivan tightened his arms around his sister for a moment, as though rebelling against her logical words, but eventually, slowly let her down. Once on her feet, she noted how utterly confused and hurt her brother appeared. What could have brought this on? She hadn't heard of anything particularly jarring that had happened to him on the news, so it couldn't be national trouble.

Picking up the phone, Ukraine put it to her ear again. "Hello?" she asked. "I'm sorry, Elizabeta, but I'm going to have to call you back. Something's come up," she said simply before she hung up and turned her full attention to her brother.

The younger's face suddenly looked very angry as he glared at the phone. "You were talking to Hungary?" he inquired suddenly. It gave Ukraine a bad feeling.

"_D-da, _she called and was very upset about something," she explained, eyeing her brother for any sort of tell that might connect his problems with Hungary's.

"Good," the man spat, still looking at the phone distastefully. "She deserves to be upset."

"Vanya," Katyusha admonished, surprised with her brother's words. "That was unkind. You should not say such things."

The larger nation crossed his arms, a sour expression on his face, but he did not reply. The older personification could tell that the other was embarrassed about being scolded like a child, but if he came in here hugging her and acting like a child, then she would treat him as such. She loved her brother very much, she really did, but she was also beginning to form a rather nasty headache, and that wouldn't be pleasant for anyone.

"So why have you come here, _brat_?" she tried to keep her voice mild. "Why are you so upset?"

The Russian's face crumpled a bit, and once more he looked uncertain, as if he was suddenly self-conscious about something. Ivan was such a powerful nation, one that had demanded complete and total respect for a long time. Many nations actually remembered him for his military strength and his sheer size. But seeing Russia like this, as a nervous, awkward young man, was not something everyone got the privilege of seeing. It reminded Ukraine of when Ivan had been a boy, still growing into adulthood.

"Vanya?" she pressed gently.

The younger nation went and flopped down on his sister's couch up against the wall, with a labored sigh. He was almost too big for it, his knees coming up uncomfortably high. Katyusha watched her brother as he avoided eye contact, like a teenager that was sure he was going to get scolded from his mother because he'd done something wrong. The possibility of her brother having done something that he knew she wouldn't disapprove of, added with her confusion over Hungary's mysteriously random phone call, left many bad conclusions floating around in the older nation's mind.

"I…I am confused," at last her brother spoke. She could truly hear it in the ringing of his voice.

"What are you confused about, dear?" she sat down next to him, fitting on the couch much better than he did.

The violet-eyed man didn't meet his sister's eyes, finding the carpet much more interesting than Ukraine's expression. It was apparent that he didn't want to tell her, yet he desperately needed someone to listen to him. Instead of trying to force him, Katyusha waited, knowing that in this silent battle of wills, she would eventually win out. She always did if Ivan was feeling particularly troubled. He knew that she would help him as best as she could. Or at least she hoped he did!

"America's mad at me," he admitted, his expression deject as he finally looked at his sister's face.

Ukraine sat still for a moment, the pieces of her puzzle starting to form together. Hungary had called her saying something about America being furious. While upsetting, it wasn't so big of deal seeing as America usually let go of her anger —or at least hid it for the most part—towards nations she usually got along with like this. What _was _alarming, however, was the fact that Russia had gotten involved.

Horrible scenes and old buried fears of the Cold War sprang unwilling into Ukraine's mind, and she couldn't help the tears that began forming. If there was one nation that America had held a grudge against longest, it was Russia, and even today she knew that her brother and the Western nation didn't get along all too well. So if Ivan had done something to America and the Superpower was furious…well, Katyusha was understandably worried, and even a bit terrified.

"O-oh?" she tried to keep her voice steady. "What did you do?"

"_I _didn't do anything!" Ivan suddenly sat up straighter, frowning, his eyes wild, as though desperate for his sister to believe him. "I just watched, it was the others that did it all."

What was this about others now? What did that have to do with America and Hungary? She had too many mysteries to solve at one time and no one was making any sense. Why couldn't anyone just _tell _her, rationally, what was going on instead of making her worried and scared? "I'm sorry, Vanya, b-but I don't know what you're talking about."

The younger nation stared at his sister incredulously, as though he couldn't believe Katyusha didn't know about the apparently well-known and alarming events that had taken place to upset the Superpower. "You see," he began awkwardly, having the grace look ashamed. Ukraine settled herself in, preparing herself for an explanation that was sure to be a full blown episode of trouble. "—at that World Meeting in Stockholm, I sat with Hungary, France, and others and they came up with this plan…"

Mixing Hungary and France together was never a good idea. Ukraine twisted her hands together nervously. "What plan?" she felt compelled to ask, though she wasn't sure that she really wanted to know.

Looking incredible uneasy, Ivan took a deep breath and began explaining the whole event, of how a contest was developed in order to make America behave more like a woman. Her brother explained that in order for that to happen, it was the general consensus of the other members of the table that should America become involved with someone, she would begin to start caring more for how they thought of her, and perhaps try and make herself more feminine. He went on to tell her about all of the arrangements, of how they traveled everywhere and viewed the dates, how they had Canada and Hungary try to find out more about America's tastes— though he shared with his sister that he believed America's brother had deliberately lied to the others, apparently not wanting anyone to succeed with his sister. By the time he had described all of the dates, however, Ukraine felt her head spinning with all of the information given to her.

"—and then Germany had us go into this backroom and then told America all about our plans and she came in and caught us all observing her on her 'date', and she left upset," Ivan concluded sadly.

Ukraine winced before pinching the bridge of her nose as the headache she had been fighting off was winning out. "Poor America," she sympathized. "She must have been furious."

"_Da_, she was."

The remorse and very real regret in her brother's voice did not escape Katyusha's notice. She looked up at the man sitting next to her in surprise, studying his features. The confusion was back again, dancing about on his face, as through trying to decide if it should stay and settle in or flitter away into nothingness. While her brother was not as hostile to America as he had once been, grudges didn't go away over night, and the last she had heard from her brother, he did not like America. As an older sister, she was naturally disappointed in her brother's behavior for going along with a mean trick and spying on the powerful western nation, she couldn't say she was really all that surprised by it either. This sort of behavior was just how America and Russia acted towards one another, both of them reacting quiet cruel to the other at times. It was _natural_.

So, with this being the case, the older nation was understandably puzzled as to why her brother seemed to care so much about his part in this trick. He was so upset that it was unsettling in the highest degree. Shouldn't he be pleased about this?

"I'm sure she won't take this out solely on you, _brat_," Ukraine placed a comforting hand on her brother's. "After all, it's just as much the other nations' fault as it was your own."

"But I didn't _do _anything!" Ivan defended, scowling down at his sister. "It was all Hungary and France's idea! They came up with it because England was complaining. I was just invited to come along. I didn't even take her out on a date!"

Once more, Katyusha was startled. Her eyes narrowed ever so slowly in thought as she eyed her brother carefully. "You still went along with it, Vanya," she scolded lightly. "Everyone in on this shares the same amount of blame." He looked away, pouting a bit, much like a child. "But brother, tell me, why should you care about America so? You do not like her."

It sounded harsh, but it was the truth. Right now Ukraine was tired of all the riddles and disorganized stories that only created more questions rather than alleviating them. It was time to be blunt now. A theory to her brother's behavior was forming in her mind, but she wasn't sure she could depend upon it. Actually, it was quite crazy, and she wanted her brother to put the notion to death before it could manifest itself in her brain and cause her the grief of misinterpreting her brother in the future.

His response, however, didn't put her at ease. "I do too!" he cried, shocking the woman. "I-I mean…well, I don't _dis_like her…I mean, at least I don't hate her…I don't think."

Scooting closer, Ukraine took his hand in hers. "You seem very unsure of yourself," she stated unnecessarily, but used it to drive home her point. "Do you, or do you not, like America?"

Ivan was still. "Define 'America'?" he asked slowly.

"Ah," Katyusha nodded. Her brother had obviously agonized over this for quite a long time before coming to her. That's probably why he did, actually, having gotten too frustrated with himself, so he came here seeking aide. "Why don't you? Tell me what you think of her."

"I don't like America," Russia answered after a moment, sounding the surest he had been since coming here.

"Why?"

The bigger nation snorted. "Why? Because she's arrogant and so greedy! She always has to be in control, and she has to have everything her way. She doesn't like seeing other people's point of view, and she is so nosy! She thinks she has to be a 'hero' and get into everyone else's business all of the time. She's so stupid, believing in her government so explicitly. And she abuses her power too much and pushes her culture and way of life down everyone else's throat!"

This was incredible. Katyusha hadn't seen this much passion from her brother in a long time. The last had been during the Cold War, when they had also been discussing America and her placing nuclear weapons in Europe. But as opposed to the last time, Ivan was not really angry. He seemed more confused and frustrated than anything else as to why he was having to explain the doubt that was shining true in his voice. A small smile found its way onto the woman's lips.

"Hmm, that sounds more like your political views," she commented quietly. "Is that really all you see her as? As a nation? What about her humanity?"

Amethyst eyes were struck by panic, and they began shifted about the room wildly, as though searching for a way out as they strategically avoided the calm cyan eyes before him. Ivan pulled his hand out of his sister's and began playing with the ends of his scarf. It was like when he was little and had caused trouble for the Mongolians and didn't want to admit that they had attacked because he had provoked them.

"Vanya?" she looked at her brother worriedly.

"I don't know!" he cried, standing up. "I don't know! I don't know what to think about her humanity."

"Sit down, _brat_," Katyusha reached up and pulled the other nation's hand down. Groaning in exasperation, the man did as he was bade. "Why don't you know what to think of her?" she went on once he looked to be calmer. "Tell me what you think of America as a person?"

Once more, Ivan snorted. "She's loud and annoying and she eats too much. She's pushy and over-eager. She's self-centered and manipulative, yet strangely dense and stupid about the simplest things. She's so obsessed with image that it's disgusting. And she smiles too much too."

Ukraine tried hard to keep her smile in check. "That sounded a little too forced," she shook her head knowingly. "Tell me, what else you think of her, what you think of her _really_, Vanya. I cannot help you if you are not truthful," she added when he looked about ready to get up and leave.

Fiddling with his scarf again, Russia looked away from his sister's eyes. "I guess…I guess her smiles aren't so bad. I…I actually like them most of the time. And I suppose I can handle her laughing. It's loud, though," he added, as though he were clarifying something important.

"What else?" Ukraine smiled fondly, unable to keep the warmth from spreading through her chest. She had always hoped for this, but never thought she'd see the day.

"And I guess she is sort of entertaining when she tells stories," Russia went on. "And it's sort of funny when she doesn't understand something, because she is smart," he admitted, "but then there are just some things that just go over her head…Actually…I guess I don't dislike her," he repeated. "I…I _do _like her."

He let out a groan as he flopped back in the couch, holding his head. "This is ridiculous!" he moaned. "How can I like her but dislike her at the same time? I'm not making any sense!"

"You are too," Ukraine encouraged. "You don't like some things about America, but you like others. That's natural when we think of other people. My only question is, though, do you like her more than you dislike her?"

That gave reason for the Russian to pause, and Katyusha hoped, prayed, that Ivan would be truthful with himself and to her. "I…think I like her more."

Happiness coursed through Ukraine's voluminous chest and she beamed at her brother. "Why do you think that is?"

"Because I was so upset when we made her sad the other day, that my heart fell out."

Ukraine blinked several times. "O-oh. Oh my. Did it really?"

"_Da_," Ivan nodded. "Why do you think that is, _syestra_?"

The smile returned to Katyusha's face, and she took both her brother's hands in her own as tears of joy began to sting in the corners of her eyes. "Do you want the truth?" He nodded fervently, looking a little mystified as to why she would even ask, but the woman shook her head with a chuckle. "I think it's because you're in _love_ with America."

A minute passed, and then two before Ivan blinked, staring at his sister flatly.

"I am not."

The older personification faltered. "Are you sure?" She wasn't certain how to respond. If she tried to force her brother into accepting his love, he wouldn't, but then again, she didn't want him to neglect it and ruin such a beautiful thing.

"_Da_, I am sure," he nodded. It was obvious that he believed his sister was crazy for even posing such an offensive doubt.

"Why is that?" she pressed.

"Because," the Russia rolled his eyes. "I do not feel anything similar for America as I do for either you or Natalia."

The reasoning, though tragic in a way, was sound. Russia did not have much experience with people truly loving him, and as a result, had a harder time actually loving others. Katyusha knew this, and it had always made her sad. His history did not leave much room for love as he grew up. But his familial connection to his sisters was, Ukraine was at least overjoyed to hear, was still very strong. He knew only the love of his sisters, had only that with which he could compare anything else to.

"Vanya, I am very happy to know that you love Natalia, and even me after not having been there for you recently," her eyes welled up with tears as she was once more struck with guilt, and she began sniffling.

"Do not cry, sister!" Ivan pleaded, wrapping an arm around her protectively. "I understand!"

Smiling sheepishly, Ukraine nodded before taking a deep breath before going on. "Thank you. B-but my point is, Vanya, there are different types of love in the world. Ones that do not, and should not, match or come close with those feelings that one has for their family."

Ivan cocked his head to the side. "I know. But how different?" he questioned, dread growing on his face. "I know that brothers and sisters are not supposed to love in romantic ways—" They both winced at the thought of their younger sister. "—but then, how is romance supposed to feel?"

"Why don't you tell me what you believe it should be like?" Ukraine pushed delicately. If Ivan was going to understand this, he had to come to the realization on his own, that way he accepted it. She could only do so much to convince him.

Ivan sat back, apparently still mulling over the question that had no doubt been brought up in his mind recently. "I thought love should be the same no matter what. That you either loved a person or you didn't."

"Then why don't you give in to Natalia's desires if all love is the same?" She hated making him go through this, but if he was to come to terms with his true feelings, it had to be done. Sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind, after all.

"Because brothers and sisters are not supposed to love each other in that way," he repeated quickly. "Plus, she scares me sometimes," he admitted with a shudder. "I love her, but I suppose I always just assumed that I would never love her _enough_ to be romantic, that I had to be with someone else for those feelings to happen."

"Love takes on many different forms, Vanya," Ukraine explained, feeling a little guilty with making him agonize over his feelings this much. "There is the love one has for friends, one for their family. And then there is the love, special love, one has for a special person, a romantic love. Romantic love is one of the most powerful feelings in the world. It makes you so happy that there are moments you wish time would stand still and that there was no one else in the world but you and your lover." She smiled wistfully as she thought about her past and the lovers that had come in and out of her life.

"Then I really don't love America," Ivan stated firmly. "I might not dislike her, but I do not feel like that when I am around her. I…suppose I do feel happier some times, but she causes me more pain than anything. She's made me feel guilty, and angry, and depressed more than anything. There are no fireworks that go off when I see her, there are not little hearts floating around in my vision. _Nyet_, I do not _love _America."

"That's what love does to a person, Vanya," Katyusha smiled, feeling sorry for how mixed up her poor brother was. "I said love was _powerful_, I never said that it was easy. It's not. It is hard work. It can make you so jealous you can hardly stand to be around anyone else, makes you want to kill the one you think is trying to win over your beloved's heart. Love's caused wars, murders, it can make you hurt so bad that you wish you were dead."

The Russian's face took on a very alarmed expression. "Then why would anyone want to be in love?" his eyes were wide. "This sounds…it sound so painful and awful!"

Katyusha laughed lightly. "Others think so too. The ancient Greek's love and desire god, Eros, was believed to be the most destructive force in the universe." Ivan winced. "They understood just how difficult love could be. But they also knew that it was probably the most appealing thing in the world too. People spend their whole lives searching and yearning for love. You shouldn't run from it, Vanya, you should embrace it and accept it."

"But I do not want it," the large Slav shook his head quickly. "I never wanted to be in love with anyone! This cannot be correct. You have to be mistaken, _syestra_. America and I hate each other. She is still very annoying and terrible."

"You don't have to like everything about someone else in order to love them, _brat_," the older woman laughed. "What makes it love is that you accept them and like them despite their faults, you want what's best for them no matter what, and you hate to see them when they're upset. And, what separates that from a familial love, is the little extra attraction you feel when around them. You think they're pretty, or you want to always be with them or even touch them. You feel warm."

Ukraine stopped and let the information soak into her brother's brain. The Russian looked skeptically pensive as he thought through everything he had been told. She could see the wheels turning inside his mind as he critically analyzed his memories, feelings, and encounters with America. Slowly, realization bloomed on his angular face, and he turned wide eyes to his sister the moment it hit him.

"I'm in love with _Amerika_!" he cried.

Kayusha beamed brightly. "I know!"

"But I don't _want_ to love her!" he shrieked before he buried his head in his hands, moaning in despair, the same as if someone had told him something catastrophic had happened in Moscow. "I can't love her. This is impossible!"

It wasn't going to be easy to get Ivan to fully accept his feelings, but Ukraine knew that it would be for the best should her brother recognize his love instead of denying it. She dearly wanted to see her brother happy instead of living his life in regret and misery. Placing a comforting hand on his back and rubbing it gently, the older personification sighed lightly. "I am sorry you feel that way, but you need to accept this."

"I can accept it," he sat up a little bit, looking wretchedly resolved. "But isn't there some way I can get rid of this?" he stared at her desperately. "This _love _has made me feel so terrible for so long, I don't think I can live with it."

"I am sorry, Vanya, but there's no way to simply get rid of love," she smiled sympathetically.

"What if I just ignored it?" he asked hopefully.

"I don't think that will work, Ivan," she shook her head.

"But people fall in and out of love all the time, don't they?" he asked hopefully. "Maybe if I left it alone, it will just leave!"

The elder sibling paused. "I do not think that you will be falling out of love, _brat_, if you ignore this. At least not any time soon."

"What? Why!" he cried. "Other people do it and it looks so _easy_! All I have to do is be terrible to her so she won't like me back and—"

"And what?" Katyusha frowned at her brother. She found herself growing a little aggravated with him. Only truly lucky souls truly got to fall in love, find a person that could stand up with them as an equal and respect despite all differences, and he was trying to throw away a chance at happiness. She couldn't let that happen. "By ignoring her, or even being cruel to her, won't help _your _feelings for her. If you're hoping that causing her pain or torment will make her turn around and make her do something to you that will make you angry enough you'll automatically not love her anymore, forget it. Even if she did something to you, you'll always have to live with the knowledge that _you _were the one that hurt her first. _You _were the one that made her hate you, and you'll regret it."

A knowing look came into her brother's eyes, and the man was forced to look away, ashamed at his sister lecture. He sat back uncomfortably in the sofa before glancing back up at his sister. "Then maybe I can just suffer in silence until it goes away," he sighed. "That would be best."

"That could be worse yet," Katyusha once again turned compassionate, not liking to have to see her brother like this. "You'd have to live with wondering what could have been, and you wouldn't want that either, Vanya."

"Then what do I do?" he cried in frustration. "I can't do anything without her hating me or me suffering! I didn't ask for this and now I'm infected with this disease!"

Katyusha smirked at bit at the image. "Do you want my honest advice?" she patted his knee supportively. At his miserable nod, she went on. "I think you need to ultimately accept that you are in love and at least try to win America over."

"What?" Ivan bolted upright, startling the poor Ukrainian. "Are you crazy? America _hates _me!"

"There's a fine line between love and hate, Vanya," the older nation said wisely. "You two have been through a lot together."

"Most of that _bad_," the Russian snorted. "We've been close to killing one another and destroying the world! How could you possibly encourage my liking her? _Dating _her? It would never work! We've been too cruel to each other."

The two fell silent, Ukraine waiting for her brother to calm himself down. It was true, any sane person would not have encouraged their younger brothers to go after a dangerous Superpower who seemed to detest him, but Katyusha knew better. Ivan didn't know what was good for him sometimes, not really. He did not have much experience when it came to love, would not pursue such things without her encouraging—some might call it pushing—him to take a leap of faith and take a chance. At least in his personal life, that was.

As she thought of the North American nation, Ukraine had to admit that America and her brother appeared to be the sun and moon. They were so different in many respects. But looking closer, getting past the Cold War stereotypes of _Capitalist _and _Communist_, the two were very much alike. They were both powerful and driven individuals that were as stubborn as mules and three times as thick headed. They both were quite eccentric and many would say they both had warped sense of humor. There was no question about their dangerousness, and they knew how to handle each other well.

But what Katyusha saw, that neither her brother nor America would want to admit, was the fact that they were both lonely. Oh, it was much easier to tell this fact with Ivan, misery as the Soviet Union was well known, as was his grief and immense depression over its loss. The coming of Yeltsin had been abrupt and traumatic for Russia, after all. Ukraine had seen her brother's suffering personally, and she hated every memory of it, wanted to help Ivan, but knowing as a nation, she could not.

Because of her rather limited experiences with America, it had taken a little more time to discern the truth with the blonde, though it was quite clear to the European now. Despite America's outwardly cocky and bright personality, Katyusha sensed America's loneliness and depression, just the same as her brother's. This melancholy was probably especially evident now if what her brother said about the contest was true.

America was alone at the top, too young to know how to handle certain events properly; brash and controlling, and because of this, and her tendency to lash out with force, others did not easily befriend her. She was certainly bubbly and happy, able to charm others, make them laugh, but her attitude differed greatly from other nations. Not everyone trusted her smiles and her smooth charm. Being able to make true friends was harder. In a way, she was too powerful for the others to _want _to get close. It was similar for her brother.

The parallels between the two were actually quite stunning if one thought about how much the two nations had feared and hated each other, but they were there. And they were obvious. The two were so similar that it was exasperating they didn't see it and continued their fighting and bickering…Or perhaps that was the only way they could justify interacting with one another? Was it their way of flirting?

"Well," Ukraine said thoughtfully, "you two have seen each other at your very worst. You know what the other is capable of. You know each other's likes and dislikes from your observations of each other. You both almost destroyed each other completely, so what else have you to hide?" Ivan blinked at her. "You know what she doesn't like about you, and she knows what you don't like about her. Despite all this, after everything she's done to you, you somehow still like her. Vanya, that's _love_. I think you should try and make your affections known to her. Tell her how you feel."

"I can't do that," Ivan tore his hand away from his sister. "She won't accept it! Especially not after she's found out that I was in on this bet."

"You have nothing else to lose," Katyusha looked her brother in the eyes. "If you don't try, you'll _regret _it for the rest of your life."

Amethyst eyes were solemn as he stared at his sister miserably. He studied her a moment before letting out another sigh. "I'm still not sure that I love her," he tried to deny one last time.

"Are you sure?" Katyusha smirked.

"She's not going to want to see me," he resisted.

"Wait a little bit. Think through what you want to say to her and just tell her the truth."

"She won't listen."

"Ivan," Katyusha sighed. "I can't make you do anything you don't want to do. I can't make you go to America and tell her anything. But I would urge you not to pass this up. I've let too many possibilities pass me by in the past. I would hate for you to miss out the way I did."

Brother and sister stared at each other for a long moment before finally the Russian huffed and leaned back tiredly, as though he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Ukraine watched in silence as her brother wrestled with his feelings. "I think," he muttered at last, "I will have to choose my words very carefully."

Cyan eyes light up and a triumphant smirk graced the usually timid nation's lips. "I know you will," she answered, infinitely pleased, knowing she'd won.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>I'd like to think Ukraine has more of a backbone and doesn't just cry all the time. I'd like to think of her as being a little more manipulative then that. ;)

But thaaaaa~aank you, Stavr for the insight on Russian views on Americans and also their own history. It was very useful. :)

Any questions as to history or behind my thought process, please feel free to ask. Most of the time I think my thoughts should automatically be known to everyone and that you should all just _understand _where I'm coming from, so if not, ask. I don't mind. ^^

Last time, only one person got my Shakespeare quote, so 50 points to Curious1here for identifying _Julius Caesar_, and the quote "_Et tu, Brutucus_?" which America changed to "You too, Mattie?" Yay!

And because I think this is fun: 100 points + a cookie for anyone who can tell me who the fifth Russian leader was (counting Lenin as the first).


	11. Chapter 11:NegotiationWith MrWinchester

**Chapter Eleven: Negotiation With Mr. Winchester**

Russia stood outside on the sidewalk in the cold wintery air, staring at the apartments all line up neatly. The cream-colored door before him looked strangely lonely as compared to the other, brighter ones beside it. He wasn't sure if he should go knock on it or if he should turn around and just forget about the whole endeavor and go home. But then how was he going to possibly justify to his bosses his rather expensive, last minute plane ticket to Washington D.C? Granted, he'd figured things out before when he'd run all around for the dates to spy on America, but at the end of those, all the nations had scrambled notes together from their "meetings," so those had at least buffered some of Putin and Medvedev's anger towards him. But this time, well, if America sent him away—or more realistically, literally kicked him out—Ivan doubted she'd be kind enough to give him a pass for his leaders to show that he had come here to smooth over their relations again.

Sighing, the Russian looked around him, noting that despite it being the middle of the afternoon, it didn't look all that busy around the apartments. He wondered if it was because it was cold or if everyone that lived around here really all had jobs and were at them today. But it was a Sunday afternoon, usually Americans didn't work Sundays, right?

He tried shifting his feet, tried to turn away, but his feet remained firmly planted, as though frozen. No, he wasn't going to run from this. It had taken him another two weeks after seeing Ukraine to fully admit to himself that he was in love with the American, and a tremendous amount of vodka consumed nearly twelve hours ago now to give the Russian the courage to buy a plane ticket and board it right before it took off.

But now the affects of the blessed liquid courage had worn off, and now that he thought about it, Ivan wondered if this was all a good idea. His sister had said that it would be best to just confront America about all of this, but he wasn't so sure. America was a lot different than the woman around where they lived, and she certainly would not just forgive him because he asked her to and confessed his love. Only really stupid women would do that, and America wasn't stupid…at least in that respect. She would not be won by simple declarations or tricked into returning any of his feelings. The only possible way any of this could work is if she felt anything for him at all… other than disgust and hatred, that is.

Taking several deep breaths, Ivan found himself moving towards the front door of America's apartment. He hadn't known where the blonde lived at exactly before this, but he'd strangled the information out of Lithuania a week or so ago. So, as he approached the oddly plain looking door, the Slav was on full alert, every sense alive and ready should either he find himself dealing with a hostile nation or at the wrong address.

Tentatively he raised his gloved hand, and before he could think himself out of it, he knocked on the door, three firm knocks. Everything was strangely still, not much noise for being in one of America's busiest cities. It made him highly uncomfortable.

After a minute or so, Ivan thought to knock again, but the door suddenly opened, revealing a pair of blue eyes that the Russian had found he adored. "Hello?" America asked, while pulling open the door.

The moment she realized who was at her door, America froze, her eyes wide with surprise. Nervously, Ivan gave a shaky smile, before raising his hand in greeting. "_Privyet Amerika_," he said, trying to make his voice as pleasant as possible as to not provoke the girl.

Her response was to slam the door shut in his face with a loud _bang, _followed by the sounds of her locking and bolting it. Ivan's shoulders sagged a bit, but he knew he shouldn't be taking the reply as hard as he was. This was all expected, after all, he knewshe was angry. Preparing himself for the upcoming battle, the large nation knocked on the door again. "_Amerika_? I know you are home. Can I talk to you?"

He received no reply.

As he kept up his knocking, asking for the blonde to let him in, Ivan realized just how right his sister was. Love _was _a destructive, dangerous force. He felt stupid and embarrassed, like some weak pathetic serf that was made to grovel at the feet of a truly unworthy mistress. This was _not _something Russia did. In fact, _Russia _hated this whole thing. He hated how much America was suddenly important to him, hated that he had to beg for her to open the door, hated even _being _on American soil. But _Ivan _was desperate, and although it hurt his pride, he found himself humbling himself before the one nation he had shared such a rough history with.

She was ignoring him. There were no two ways about the situation. Scowling, the European thought to start kicking the stupid barrier that lay between him and the girl he was _trying _to talk to, but he was struck with another idea.

Pulling out his led pipe, Russia knocked on the door with surprising gentleness. "_Amerika_," he purred. "You will let me in or I will break this door down." He tapped on it again for emphasis, a little harder. "_Amerika~ _I give you until the count of three."

"You wouldn't dare," came a very muffled reply from just the other side. Had she been leaning against the door?

Smiling brighter, he ran his pipe down the length of the door, making sure to leave a scratch. "You know me better than that," he hummed. "One."

"Dude! Did you just scratch my door?"

"Two."

"Not cool, man! What kind of psycho starts scratching up someone else's door?"

"Three!" Ivan called, pulling his pipe back, as though he were about to start chopping fire wood, when the door opened. Not a lot, just a crack, it still being bolted on the other side, but it was enough to reveal a pair of stormy blue eyes. They were beautiful.

"You break my door and I swear I'll break your femur," the girl snarled.

Lowering his weapon, Ivan smiled at her. He had been so nervous to come here and talk to her, unsure of how he would act around her, or how she would act around him, but her anger was familiar, and he latched on to it. It made him more comfortable, strangely enough, and he knew he could work with this, perhaps even change it. "Hello, America," he greeted again. "May I come in?"

"No," she said shortly. "What are you doing here?"

"It's very rude, is it not, of you to keep a guest out in the cold like this?" he asked innocently. "_Tsk_, I thought American hospitality was greater than this."

Now Ivan found himself back into _very _familiar territory as he watched those blue eyes burn furiously and a scowl melted into the girl's features. "We don't accommodate evil, filthy bastards who take advantage of people's friendships," she spat.

Russia just laughed. "But you still let your heads of government and corporations live here."

_SLAM!_

Russia found himself facing a door once again. He didn't really blame her for slamming the door this time. He had gone a little overboard there, but she had honestly made it too easy. _No one _could have passed up that opportunity.

Chuckling a bit, Ivan knocked on the door once more. "_Amerika_, we were not done speaking! We need to discuss the reasons for your inhospitality! _Amerika_?"

Taking back up his pipe, the Slav began a rather vicious assault on the door. He banged on it none too gently, and watched as little dents appeared and the paint began chipping off. America would be angry about that, but Russia didn't care much. If she would be nice and let him in, he'd buy her a new one.

At last, between his constant banging and calling out her name, America finally opened the door again. "What?" she cried, furiously. "What do you want?"

Lowing his pipe once more, Ivan smiled, pleased that he was finally getting results. "I just wanted to come talk to you."

"What could you possibly have to talk to me about?" she growled. "Didn't you have enough fun ruining my life over a month ago? Had to come here and mock me?"

All of the humor of the situation left the Russian immediately when he realized he was going to have to explain himself. The nervousness was back, and he found the smile was slipping from his lips. "I didn't come here to mock you about that," he said seriously.

"Then why are you here? What do you have to say?" she demanded.

"I…would prefer to come inside and tell you," he said shifting uncomfortably.

Of the many scenarios he had envisioned about confronting America about his love for her, this certainly wasn't one of them. He had no interest in telling her while he was out basically on the street where everyone could hear him confess to such a deeply personal thing. What would people think of him then? He had no desire to be humiliated, for everyone to see him bowing down to America. He was no courtly lover, he was not the sort, and would not be, the man that exclaimed his love for everyone to hear. It wasn't their business.

But seeing the unwavering resentment and fuming expression, he knew he was not going to get his way any time soon. She was out to make this as difficult as possible for him. "No dice," she snapped. "Just tell me what it is you want so that you'll leave me alone."

"This…is not something you would want everyone outside to hear," he pressed, grabbing at his scarf, trying to loosen it. Why was it so tight?

"Nuh-uh. You're not getting in here. Just tell me what it is the hell you want. I'm busy," she snarled.

Ivan strained to see in between the crack of the door. From what he could tell, America was wearing pajama bottoms and some sort of loose fitting tank top. It was eleven in the morning. She wasn't busy.

"Listen," he stuck out a hand so he could lean forward onto it. "I know you are angry with me, and to be honest, for once, I think you have a reason to be," he admitted, loving how the anger stalled and faltered for just a moment in her eyes. "I actually came here to…to apologize."

The two great powers stared at one another for a long moment. "You're joking," her voice was flat. "Listen, 'to be honest'," she quoted mockingly, "I'm still pissed as hell at you and everyone else, and I don't believe for a _second _that you came here out of the goodness of your little heart to apologize to me. So what's up? Where is the rest of your band? They still in a white van? Or let me guess, they're in one of the buildings across the street?"

"_Nyet_," Ivan said quickly. "I really—"

"Seriously, dude, what happened to you? You used to be so good at lying," she ridiculed. Bitterness seeped into her tired voice. "Have you really come to this? Only able to half-ass some sort of horrendous story? Or wait, is Hungary the one making you say all this to me?"

"There is no one here but me," Russia growled, leaning in so that he was almost complete pressed against the door. "I came here to say I'm sorry!"

"Well then your '_apology_' is not accepted at this time," her voice oozed with superiority and haughtiness. "If you want to _prove _to me that you're really sorry, you'll get the hell off my stoop and go home. You've said what you wanted to say, now go. If I'm feeling generous, maybe I'll accept your apology…in a year or two."

She made to close the door, but Ivan wouldn't allow it. He put his foot in the door, literally, before grabbing the edge with his hand, prying it open. Before America could have reacted, the Russian broke the chain on the bolt, and pulled open the door all the way. "I wasn't done," he stated darkly.

He had almost gotten past the frame when he heard a clicking, and stopped short when he realized America's backpedaling wasn't necessarily because she had been surprised. Suddenly, Ivan had a Winchester in his face, and he knew that his angry outburst had been a mistake. America hadn't been kidding, she _was _pissed off, she had just been humoring him by letting him speak a moment ago. She had been ready for him to make a mistake, he realized, and now he had, and now _she _had an excuse to blow a hole through him.

"Get. Out," she snarled.

Ukraine would be very disappointed in him for his methods thus far. Mentally he recapped his encounter with the girl and realized that since he'd gotten here he had annoyed her, scratched her door, insulted her, and now broken into her house…He was no expert on affairs concerning love, but Ivan felt pretty confident that he wasn't doing so well. At all.

Taking a deep breath, the Slav held up his hands, as though to surrender, making sure she could see his pipe clearly. "I really did just want to come inside and talk. Nothing else."

"I _said_, get out," America snapped. "I don't care what you have to say, all I care about is that you get the hell out!"

Slowly, as not to startle the girl, Ivan leaned over and set his pipe against the wall. America followed his actions, keeping him within her crosshairs at all times. She was a fantastic shot, always had been, and Russia wasn't too keen on testing her skills out again. He winced as he remembered the last time he had been in this sort of situation. He prayed that it would turn out better.

"I am sorry for breaking in," he apologized, feeling stupid for having to, yet compelled to do so. "And I _am _sorry for the competition. I was just there because I was dragged into it like Germany, Austria, and Canada."

America lowered her weapon a fraction. "Mattie was duped into all of it too?" She was trying not to sound curious, he supposed, but her voice was dreadfully hopeful.

"_Da_," the Slav nodded.

Although she didn't take her eyes off of him, the girl did appear thoughtful; the tiniest bit of relief could be seen as her shoulders relaxed slightly. "Well. That's good to know," she replied drily. England would have been proud. "I'll think over the apology," she said again, "but I want you out of my house. _Now_."

Now, Ivan wasn't a nation that made it a habit to gossip or squeal on other nations, but seeing her reaction to his mentioning her brother and his unwilling participation, the Russian got a brilliant idea. "I would like to make up my involvement to you," he offered, hoping he looked sincere, because honestly, he was not. If he were honest with himself, he was not sorry for his contribution, he wasonly sorry that he had gotten caught.

"You can make things up a bit by _leaving_," the girl rolled her eyes, apparently not impressed with his offer…But then why was she letting him talk instead of just shooting at him like she certainly would have done twenty years ago without thinking about it? Maybe she was more interested than she appeared to be?

"Or," Russia smiled, "I could tell you anything you'd like to know about the past year's competition and answer any questions you might have."

The shotgun was lowered another centimeter. "And why would you do that? It wouldn't be out of the goodness of your heart, would it?"

The Slav laughed. "I make no promises on my heart as, you see, it's not the most reliable of my organs."

It surprised, but pleased, Ivan when America lost her frown and instead snorted, trying to hold back a laugh. Unable to completely disguise her amusement, the girl lowered the shotgun completely, though her stance was still tense should she need to become more aggressive again. "Yeah, I guess a heart that jumps out wouldn't be the best, would it?" She shook her head, a small smile tainting her mask of loathing. "But seriously, why would you offer me this, or even come here to _apologize _in the first place?" she frowned. "That's not like you."

Relieved that his ill-thought out plan was actually producing a small amount of success, the Russian decided to press his advantages. "Well, perhaps the old me," he shrugged slightly. America blinked. "We've been getting along so well lately, it'd be a pity to let a little game come in between us, _da_?"

America scowled. "That 'little game' isn't something I can take lightly. That 'little game' of yours really hurt! Do you have any idea what it's like to have your family, or people you consider friends, just turn on you like that?"

As usual, America didn't seem to recall her history facts or take into account who she was talking to. All of Ivan's excitement over the girl's growing acceptance was sucked out of him, and his smile slipped off of his face as he _did _recalled his not too long ago past, feeling cold inside. "_Da_," he said quietly, not quite looking at the other nation. "In fact, I do."

The two great powers stood a moment in silence, America looking embarrassed and highly uncomfortable as she realized just what she had said and to whom, and Russia trying to fight back the memories of the 1980s and 1990s. When he was successful in locking the unpleasantness back into its cage, he refocused his gaze to the girl and found her looking oddly repentant. He knew she would never apologize to him out loud, her pride and anger would always keep her lips tightly sealed when it came to uttering those words to him, but seeing that look she wore was enough.

Clearing her throat awkwardly, the girl turned away from Ivan's intense gaze, a slight blush making its way onto her cheeks. "So about this deal…?"

"_Da_," Russia nodded quickly, wanting to get away from the too personal topic as much as she did. "Allow me to show you how sorry I am by telling you what you'd like to know."

Taking a deep breath, the blonde nodded. "Okay. Fine. I accept your offer. Start talking."

Ivan opened his mouth to begin telling the girl what he had observed in his time with the other nations, when another idea struck him. "Why don't I tell you over lunch?" he asked innocently.

America froze, before looking horrified. "_Hell_ no!" she cried. "I'm not going out into public with you! I don't want to be seen with you!"

"Why not?" the larger nation asked, trying his best not to let her know how much that hurt.

"B-because!" she sputtered. "It would…look…weird."

"How so?"

"Well, _duh_! Only couples or families go out on Sunday afternoons for lunch," she explained as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. What Ivan didn't find obvious, however, was the flush that stained her cheeks.

"I still don't understand why this upsets you," the Russian shrugged.

America sputtered. "S-seriously? Are you _that _dense! Everyone would think we're a couple!"

Russia smirked, but tried his damnedest to hide it. "Well, _I _never got my date with you."

The Winchester was back in his face faster than Ivan could blink. "_OUT!_"

"I was _teasing_!" the Russian held up his hands again. "I thought you Americans liked jokes."

"Not those kind," she growled. "I mean seriously! Do you _want _me to blow a hole in your head?"

"I would prefer that you didn't," he shook his head. "Head wounds such as that are always so tricky to heal, and it always makes human so uncomfortable when you're taken into the hospital and should, by their standards, be dead but you're sitting up talking to them about what happened."

It was very fortunate for Russia that the woman had the attention span of a gnat, because the moment he was finished speaking, the shotgun was lowered as America sighed dramatically. "Dude I _know_! They just sit there and are all like, 'There's no possible way you should be alive!' and then you have to be all like 'Yeah, yeah, I know. Medical miracle and all that, just get to fixin' my freakin' wound already!'

"But enough story time," she came back to herself, hefting up the gun once more. "I seriously don't get you, dude. One minute you're all like, 'I'm sorry!' and then the next you're saying something insulting to me."

"_Teasing_," Ivan stressed, noting that her anger was not as hot as it had been before. Again, he was struck by how lenient she was being with him. "I thought you always told me that you had a thicker skin than to let a little taunt hurt you?"

For the first time in a long time, America heaved a sigh of weariness. The Slav hadn't heard her sigh like that since they met up in Berlin at the end of World War II. They had not technically been enemies then, so neither felt overly concerned showing the other their tiredness then. The emerging Superpowers had shared a moment of weariness together in silence before they had to get up and go to work again. Since then, neither had liked to give the other anything to use so the other could mock them. No weaknesses were so blatantly seen again.

The girl ran a hand through her wheat-colored hair. "I really don't care what you think you were doing, but I'm tired," she admitted. "I've been through a rather traumatic personal experience lately, and I just don't feel like being teased, or whatever the hell else you think you're doing. So if you don't mind, I would like for you to leave me alone so I can get back to enjoying my day."

Looking the girl up and down once more, to her still pajama clad body, to her living room, where there was a laptop open and a box of ice cream next to it. There was a can of Pepsi beside that and surprisingly a bottle of whiskey, but whether she had any of the alcohol today or if it was left over from another time, Russia couldn't be sure. Being tricked must have upset her more than Ivan had imagined, and on such a personal level.

Turning back to stare into the weary blue eyes, Ivan smiled sympathetically. "It would be better for you to get out, you know. Get some air." America stared at him blankly. "Do not worry, I would be paying for everything."

The girl's lips twisted into an irritated sneer. "Damn straight you're paying for everything!"

Ivan froze. "Does…that mean you are taking me up on my offer?" he asked, a little stunned.

If he was truthful with himself, Russia was a rather pessimistic kind of guy, and deep down he had not expected America to ever consent to any of this. Why would she? She had every right to be furious with him for what he had helped do. But maybe Katyusha had been right; Ivan was no more responsible for the plot than the others. Maybe America really didn't have a single person she had been more angry with, maybe she blamed them all equally, and in turn, would forgive them all with the same amount of trouble? But then, when had America ever been the land of the equal?

America looked like she would rather be anywhere than standing in her pajamas before Russia with a shotgun at her side, but she didn't lift the weapon again. Instead, a faint flush came over her cheeks as she looked away. "Well, it _is _lunch time, and I didn't get to go grocery shopping yesterday…"

The world no longer made sense anymore. Russia had been confused before with his own feelings, but he was forever mystified with the girl's responses to him. First she'd been absolutely livid, then she'd been distracted by things he said, then she goes back to wanting to shoot his face off, and now she had honestly accepted his lunch date invitation? She made absolutely no sense. Was she really that curious about what had happened that she wanted to use him for information, or was it something else? If she was just using him, she wouldn't look so uncomfortable, but what else could it be?

"Good," he said simply, not knowing how else to respond. Why couldn't things go back to being simple and easy to comprehend?

The blonde took up the Winchester once more, but did not aim it, just held it. "I, uh, gotta go change. _You_," she pointed at the Russian, her expression dark, "don't move. You stand right there and wait for me to come back down. Touch _anything _and I swear you'll have plenty to explain to the doctors in the trauma ward. Got it?"

Smiling happily, Russia nodded. "_Da_."

America looked the Slav over suspiciously before she nodded slowly in return. As she turned to go up the stairs, she threw a glare over her shoulder. "I mean it. Don't touch _anything_ or I'll fucking break your femur."

"Yes, yes, you threatened me with that already," he smirked.

One last dirty look was his reply, before the girl went into what he assumed was her room before she slammed the door closed in further reply. Ivan snorted, but decided that he should be thankful. Not only hadn't he received a gunshot wound, but America had truly accepted his offer to take her out. It was an unexpected victory; the best kind.

Looking about the room, the Slav remembered that this was the first time he had ever been inside the American's house. He was obviously not one of the nations that got the privilege to enter into America's private home. Not anymore. He had back in the 1800s when they had been closer and the blonde had been much easier to get along with. She had been so young and naïve then, despising Europe and Britain. That's why Ivan had liked her initially, but he had gotten to appreciate her can-do spirit and optimism. True, Russia tended to think that optimists were synonymous with liars, but it had still be refreshing to see a nation that was green, still so hopeful for the future. Smart nations discarded such an attitude, but it had been nice to see the idea was still alive in someone.

Walking further into the house, Ivan decided it was nothing like how he imagined it would be. The walls were a plain, white-cream color, and it was of a moderate size—at least in American terms it was. He had expected loud colors and a mansion of an apartment. But like he thought, there were movie posters plastered to the walls, and against the far wall was the entertainment system. There were movies scattered all about the shelves, books, comic book, and even pictures.

Intrigued by a few of the older black and white photos, Ivan went to investigate. There was one picture that looked to have been taken in the 1850s with France, Britain, Canada, and America. They were hardly the picture of the perfect family. France was smirking a bit, probably only for the camera, but he looked put-out about having to stand so close to the man that had stolen his colonies away from him. Britain, on the other hand, didn't try to hide his displeasure at being so near France. Instead, the Englishman was glaring out at the viewer shamelessly. In between the two Europeans was Canada, looking a bit crowded and forgotten. The three men were all dressed similarly, in their finest suits. To the side, standing a bit apart from the others, was America. She wore a small smile, but she came off appearing sad more than anything else. She was in a large, puffy looking dress, looking like the model of her Southern women. It was obvious that this had been taken when none of the family had particularly liked each other, but they must have tried to get together anyway.

Turning away from the rather depressing photo, he turned to the next, one of America looking much happier in blue jeans with chaps, a button up shirt, and a cowboy hat, her hair in two long braids. Even back then, she could be a bit of a tomboy, and he knew that even her society didn't approve of it back then, though they didn't really say much to her about it. Looking between the two photos, Ivan could definitely tell in what social sphere America's heart laid.

He was about to move on to examine a later picture of the girl and her brother when something caught his eye. He didn't know why it did, perhaps it had just been a reflection of light, but he noticed that there was something behind the other pictures, laying down flat. Curious, Ivan looked over his shoulder to the door America had disappeared behind. He heard running water, so he figured that she wasn't quite ready to go yet.

Feeling confident, he scooted the unhappy family photo aside and reached back to grab whatever else was behind there. He ended up pulling out some other picture frames that had been turned over, as though stuffed in the back to be forgotten. They were covered in dust and looked to be quite old. Briefly he wondered why America would let such old pieces lie about so unprotected, but then he had to consider that this was _America_. She often adopted the mentality of "out with the old and in with the new."

Wiping the dust away carefully, Ivan turned over the pictures, and gasped. Quickly, he wiped away all of the dust and stared at an old picture of America, smiling her signature smile, and him. For a split second, Russia thought that this had to be fake or that he was not seeing it correctly, but after another moment of staring, he realized that indeed it was him that was staring back at himself from the photo.

America had kept her old pictures of him.

Snapping his head around, Ivan suddenly became paranoid, feeling as though he had just found out a very great secret. But the sound of a hairdryer calmed his nerves, alerting him that he still had plenty of time before America would be finished. So with the time he had, he took to admiring the picture.

It had been taken when photography was still very new, and people had to hold very still for them, yet both he and America were smiling in it. Despite the age, the viewer could tell that the two in the still image were happy as they stood very close to one another, so close that America was almost completely flushed up against his side. She wore another one of her dresses with the poofy sleeves, trying to imitate the European style for her big venture to the Russian Empire, her hair done up in some sort of bun, if he recalled correctly, but it was harder to tell from the image. Ivan himself was in his "court" suits, as he called them. He'd always hated the high collars, though he usually never actually buttoned all the buttons up as he hid it behind his scarf.

Looking back on the photo, Ivan realized how scandalous their pose must have seemed to humans then. They were both standing side by side, America pressed close, Ivan's hand resting around her shoulder. And they were _smiling_. Such pictures were always so time consuming and to hold a pose for very long was annoying, but there they were smiling, Ivan's arm around America, both looking completely at ease and cheerful.

A warm smile came to Russia's lips as he remembered that day. Although America had sent plenty of ambassadors to his place before, she had not come herself until the 1820s. After that, she had loved coming to his place, loved seeing all the sights and the palace. She had been so impressed and amazed with the Tsars and Tsarinas and his culture that Ivan had actually enjoyed when the girl came over, if just to show off his power. A young, impressionable nation was always the best, as they were so easily awed and willing to adore even the simplest of things. This picture had been taken about a decade later, but even after nearly ten years, America had not grown bored with him.

The hairdryer stopped, and Ivan knew he would have to put everything back. Quickly, he noted that the other photos were similar ones of him and America. But he had no time to look at them further. Carefully, he placed them back in their original positions in the back of the shelf, and reset the other pictures. He backed away from the large entertainment system and went to sit down on the couch. America had told him not to move, but surely she couldn't get too upset with him if he sat down. If she complained he'd just inform her that she was a poor host, not offering him a drink or ever a seat!

As he sat, he was once again struck with the presence of the whiskey bottle that sat out so exposed for anyone to see it. He knew America liked the drink, but she was not the type of nation to indulge in it frequently—she preferred her soda. Had she really been that upset about what the others had done to trick her that it drove her to the bottle? That didn't seem very characteristic of her, but at the same time, Russia had noticed that when extremely depressed, America was capable of many things.

Trying to ignore the bottle that, for whatever reason, added on an extra weight of guilt onto his already heavy load, he tried instead to interest himself by looking at the laptop that had been left carelessly opened. It was opened to America's hotmail account, and he noticed that she had nearly fifty unread messages. Leaning in to take a closer look, Ivan realized that most of them were from England and Canada, though there were some from France and Japan as well.

Russia snorted, shaking his head. Were the others really that stupid? America was furious, why would they think that she would want to read about how sorry they were? America respected action, not empty words. He knew that, that's ultimately why he'd decided to come to America in person, knowing that any messages he might send would either be ignored or deleted.

Looking down at the far right of the screen, Ivan noticed that America had open some sort of music player. He glanced up to the stairs again, heard some moving around, but it didn't sound like the girl was quite ready yet. That being the case, the Slav leaned forward once more and put the mouse over the window, to try and find out what she had been listening to. In all actuality, Ivan didn't really care all that much, since he didn't like a lot of American music, but he thought that maybe if he knew some music America liked, he could use it to start a conversation later. After all, he would eventually have to end his account of what had happened in the competition and America would run out of questions. He needed some sort of topic to ease any awkwardness that would surely arrive.

For the second time within fifteen minutes, Ivan was taken by complete surprise. She had been listening to _My byli vmeste. _Without really thinking about what he was doing, he opened the tab that was labeled "Vishnevskay" and was once more shocked to find several dozen songs. There were pieces such as _Penja Ofelii, Otchevo?, _and even_Tsarskaya nevesta__. _His classics, all before him, collected and labeled properly.

He didn't quite know what to make of this, but he heard the door of the upstairs open. As quick as he could, he minimized the folder, and sat up, plastering on an innocent smile, as though he hadn't discovered the many little secrets she had hidden throughout just this one room.

America eyed his warily, but stopped by the couch, her hands posted on her hips. She was wearing nice black slacks and black high heels of some sort. If Ivan had to guess, he would say that they were really boots. She also had on a beautiful blue top that matched her eyes well, really making them sparkle. It was a simple blouse, but elegant. She wore silver jewelry, many thin bracelets on one hand with a ring on the other. She wore a simple cross around her neck and small, straight, earrings that dangled down several centimeters. Her hair was much more tamed than before, but it still held its natural wave, and or course, that stubborn little cowlick of hers was still present, refusing to stay down.

In short, she looked good, beautiful as always. "Okay, what did you do?" she asked him angrily as she grabbed a purse and from off a table near the door. She ruined her sophisticated look, he noticed, when she put on her old bomber jacket. But then, she wouldn't be America…no, she wouldn't be _Amelia_ if she didn't keep those little quirks of hers.

"I did nothing," Ivan smiled, standing up as well, going to stand near the girl who had kept so many pictures of him, even as he had burned all of his of her. His heart warmed at the thought of that gorgeous picture that was sadly sitting in the back of a shelf.

The girl snorted. "Yeah. Okay. Whatever. You ready to go?"

"Of course," he beamed.

Like the gentlemen people always accused him of incapable of being, Ivan held the door open for America. The blonde just rolled her eyes and walked out as the Russian followed. When she locked the door, and began walking down the steps, he almost offered her his arm. But then he remembered that this was America and she would probably think he was mocking her or trying to embarrass her. He still valued his limbs at the moment, and decided to keep his hands to himself. Besides, he had learned in Italy that the girl still carried weaponry with her. He did not want to give her reason to pull out that pistol of hers on him. The Winchester was enough for one day.

And so the two nations went on their way, Russia following with no idea as to where they were going, hoping that it wouldn't be to some restaurant too terrible. But he harbored a hope he hadn't had in a long time, pleasantly confused about her attitude.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>"Things are looking up. It's a great little world we live in. Oh, I'm happy as a pup since love looked up at me~" Oh, those Gershwins really knew how to pin down the moment, didn't they? ^^ (Anyone know what musical I'm talking about?)

**Russian Songs: **_My Byli vmeste_- We Were Together and _Penja Ofelii_- Ophelia's Song, by Dmitri Shostakovich. _Otchevo?_-Why? by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. _Tsarskaya nevesta- _The Tsar's Bride (an opera), by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov. GalinaVishnevskay- a famous Russian soprano.

'**Nother Note: **This _was _going to be longer, but it got to be _too _long, so I split it up. You'll just have to get an extra chapter, I guess. I know. _Terrible _isn't it? But you all have to wait, 'cause I'll be on Spring Tour with my choir this next week.

Points went to everyone who answered Yuri Andropov last time! I guess technically he wasn't exactly fifth, but he was the fifth major. Sorry if I threw you, I should have specified more clearly. Oh well. Points to everyone anyway. ^^


	12. Chapter 12:Bloody Russian,Crazy American

**Chapter Twelve: Bloody Russian, Crazy American**

The walk to the as-of-yet mysterious restaurant was a silent affair. The girl's attitude was about as icy as the Arctic in the middle of December. America wasn't saying anything as they went on their way, wouldn't even look at him, and it was making Russia extremely nervous. For once, he didn't like the silence coming from her. He would have much rather of had a chatty nitwit with him than this frosty companion.

Desperately, Ivan tired to think of something that he could say to her to perhaps break this unbearable silence. "You look nice," he commented, feeling awkward as he did so. "You didn't need to get all dressed up just for me," he teased, hoping she didn't notice how he played with the ends of his scarf.

The blonde didn't find it as funny as he did, apparently. "I didn't do it _for _you, I did it _because _of you," she stuck her nose in the air. "If I'm going to be seen with you in public, I'm damn well going to look _better _than you. Maybe then people will think I took pity on a homeless guy, or something, and took him out to eat."

Ivan scowled right back at her. "Well, that's not going to happen since everyone knows you wouldn't help a homeless man. Not with your policies," he muttered at the end.

"That's _totally _something a hero would do!" she cried, looking extremely insulted, even stopped walking to glare at him. Thank God she had apparently not heard the policies slight. She probably would have slammed his face into the cement for that one.

"I do not see a hero when I look at you."

It wasn't a lie. Russia might have seen a rival, Ivan, a potential lover, but hero? Not so much. He could admit to loving her, and like his sister said, he accepted her faults as well, and one fault that Ivan saw in the girl was that despite her proclamation of heroism, being on the other end of her wrath, he could hardly say she was _his _hero.

"Well I see a big fat bastard when I look at _you_!" America snarled right back.

"I am _not _fat," the Russian grumbled. "I am…how do you say?…big boned."

"With all that pudge?" she poked his softening belly.

"Big boned," he slapped her hand away angrily.

She snorted. "Well then you got _fat _bones."

"Coming from the fattest nation in the world," he growled.

"I am _not_!"

"Oh, don't be modest," he waved her off. "Be proud of your accomplishments."

"I am _not _the fattest!" she stomped her foot. "I work out."

"_Da_, we've all noticed," he said without thinking.

America stopped any angry retort she might have said as she stared at the older nation. "You did?"

With a smug smirk, Ivan didn't think twice before he blurted out, "Of course! It was hard not to when you were running around Spain in that skimpy little swimsuit. It was quite revealing, so thank you for that."

The moment he said this, however, Russia decided that maybe he should have taken his own advice and thought this day out more carefully. He had not meant to inform the girl that he had been looking her up and down when she was out on the beach. By saying this he might as well have admitted that he thought she was hot and wanted to ravish her body in all of those deliciously naughty ways that he'd seen and taken part of in his life. There was no way he would ever admit this to her however, and that being the case, comparatively, Ivan was mortified with himself at the moment. His face heated up into a hot pink while America's own face flushed bright red.

Shame descended upon the pair like a hawk upon its prey. They began walking again, neither one knowing who had been the brave soul to put their foot forward first, but they were glad to be moving again, to leave the embarrassment behind them. Ivan avoided eye contact with the girl, and it suited him well enough when he realized that she was doing the same.

A cold wind blew over them, and Russia noticed how America shivered despite the bomber's coat she wore. He wondered why she should be cold, but didn't bother to ask, knowing she would probably tell him to just shut up. Ivan had the idea to offer her his coat, as he had seen in many movies before, but put that idea out of his head immediately. He needed his coat, after all, and while it was not nearly as cold as Siberia in Washington D.C, he still didn't want to be uncomfortable in the chilly air. It would do no good—however unlikely it would occur—if he became ill. It was better to be safe than sorry. Although Ivan was Russia, that didn't mean that he liked the cold. He really didn't, and while he didn't always get as cold as the others, he still did, and he liked his coat.

Damn his rationality! It was always talking him out of romantic gestures. But then, would America notice his actions as being romantic? She hadn't with any of the other nations when they had tried, and they had all had a _much _better start than he did. He was coming into this with a girl that hated him and had a long history of distrust, so the fact that he was able to get her to agree to go out with him to lunch was a miracle in and of itself and made the Russian feel pretty good about himself. Now, if only he could avoid insulting her any more than he had already on this venture and stop himself from saying anymore embarrassingly awkward and truthful things, then he would be doing very well.

Peaking over once more at his shivering date, Ivan decided that it would do no good to stay silent. He needed to have conversation. Maybe it would do them some good. If he just avoided all the weirdness, that is. Taking a deep breath, the larger nation smiled. "So, America, where will we be dining? McDonalds I assume?" he smirked.

"No," the girl sniffed, sticking her nose in the air. "That's not nearly good enough for going out with _you_."

Ivan stared at the blonde, shocked. "It-it's not?" he asked, his heart fluttering a bit.

America stared back at him blankly for a moment. "Well yeah, I mean…Wait! No! That's not what I meant! I meant McDonalds is _way _too good for you! It's awesome, and delicious! The only down side of going to McDonalds with you is that it's too cheap. If you're buying I'm going to make you _pay_."

"How very…_American _of you," Russia said flatly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "So where is it that you are taking me then?" So much for _that _hope.

"McCormick and Schmick's."

Ivan frowned thoughtfully. "I think I've heard of that. What sort of food do they serve?"

"Mostly seafood," America pushed stray hairs out of her face, still acting aloof.

"I've been there before, once," Russia frowned. "If I recall correctly, they're not usually open for lunch."

"I called ahead before I came downstairs," America didn't bother to look at the man next to her. "They owe me a favor and said we could come by."

The Russian nodded once before smirking. "That's what took you so long. And here I was beginning to think you really _were_ just trying to make yourself pretty for me."

No matter how hard he might try—or want to try at least—Ivan could never give up being a bit sassy with the blonde. He liked it. He liked her wit and their word sparing. That's what made America different than the other nations. The others wouldn't play his games, would either retreat or just cower away from him, but not America. She would not be threatened by him, would not let him get away with anything. She was _interesting_, she was _different _and her sassy comments were what made her _Amelia_, and that's why he loved her. To stop this would not only be something Ivan would miss, but it would be like denying a part of himself, and Amelia too. This was who they were, and he loved her despite of it all.

As expected, the girl's face heated up again at the comment. "O-of course not!" Her voice wasn't nearly as calm as it had been before. "I would never …I mean, why would I…_Ugh_! No. NO. I already told you it was so I could look _better _than you. Nothing else," she added quickly.

"Whatever you say, _Amerika_," he shrugged. He thought back to the photo.

Eventually the two made it to the restaurant. Looking at his watch, Ivan realized that it was nearly one o'clock in the afternoon. As he noticed America making to open the door, his arm shot out first and opened it for her instead. She gave him a look, but he just smiled back at her. Although he wouldn't say it out loud, he wanted this to be as close to a date as he could make it. He couldn't be too obvious about it, of course, as that would send America into one of her fits, but even if this lunch came to nothing more than the diffusion of tensions, he would like to give the girl something to look back on fondly. Maybe if he could keep up his good behavior, she would perhaps one day accept him as a potential lover?

Right away, a waitress came up to the two nations and quickly ushered them inside, welcoming them with all the false cheerfulness that all Americans seemed to possess in the working environment. "We've set up a private booth for you, Ms. America," the woman informed them.

"Hey, thanks!" the blonde beamed at the young waitress, winking. The woman smiled back, looking a little unsure at seeing Russia there, but he just smiled his old smile at her, ignoring the way she trembled slightly.

As promised, the waitress showed them to a large booth at the back of the restaurant, handing them their menus as they took their seats across from one another. She quickly left to get them water before she came back to get their drink orders. When the waitress left, America frowned sadly after her. "Sucks that I made her have to come in early," she mused quietly.

"Well, she will just get paid more, _da_?" Russia tried to give reassurance, though he wasn't all that good at it.

"I guess," America shrugged before turning to her menu to look over the drink options.

Looking at his own, Ivan was a little disappointed, though not surprised, that the restaurant had a noticeably nonexistent vodka selection. It wasn't that he needed it, but he was starting to get nervous and would have liked to have had some. If just to steady his fraying nerves, but it looked as though he was going to have to go without. So, a little putout, he began looking at the wine selections instead.

"Hey," America said, causing the Russian to look up at her. The girl was still staring at her menu, a very focused expression on her face. "Do you wanna get a bottle of Ménage à Trois with me?"

Surprised that she was even willing to share, Ivan nodded slowly. "I suppose…where is it at on the menu?" he asked.

"'Spicy, Earthy, and Sexy Reds'."

"Wh-what?" purple eyes snapped up to stare at the American, shocked.

America finally glanced at the other across from her, looking confused. "It's under the 'Spicy, Earthy, and Sexy Reds'," she frowned. "What's wrong with you?"

"Oh, I see," Ivan nodded quickly, intently staring down at the menu again, trying to fight away the pleasant, though naughty images that came to mind with the word choice of the wines. It was interesting, he had never before truly fantasized about Amelia like this. Maybe this love sickness was getting worse?

"Um, sure, we can get that if you'd like," he added. He was thankful, truly thankful, that America was content with a nearly forty dollar bottle of wine rather than that outrageous one hundred and nine dollar bottle that he spied at the very bottom of the list.

When the waitress came back, America put in their wine order before the other woman scurried away. Ivan was grateful that they at least had bread to munch on. Truth be told, he was starving, not having eaten anything before he'd left home, too nervous and a bit drunk to remember to.

"So," America spoke up again, still looking over the food options carefully. "You gunna start talking or am I just going to have to start ordering the most expensive things on the menu?"

Giving a slight chuckle of appreciation for the dry humor, Russia nodded. "What would you like to know, _Amerika_? As I said, I am willing to tell you everything you'd like."

Setting down the menu for the first time, folding her hands on the table, the girl scrutinized her dinner partner carefully, like a commander would his platoon. She was looking for weakness, for lies, but Ivan was determined that she not find any fault with him. He had nothing to hide…except his own feelings. But he didn't want to hide those for too much longer anyway. He wanted Amelia to like him first before he did anything too drastic or said too much.

"Why was that whole competition created?" Her voice was hard, yet crisp, as though she were in an intense interrogation.

"It was a plan created by Hungary and France in accordance with Britain's complaint, in an attempt to make you behave in a more feminine manner," Russia state bluntly.

The eyes across from him flashed with hurt, before they were cold once again. "And now they think I need to act more girly?" she spat. "I can't win! One day they're calling me a slut, the next I'm Sapphic or something! That's not fair!" she cried.

The passion she expressed, even in her distress, attracted Ivan. He felt terrible for her and the insults thrown at her, but at the same time, to see those lovely blue eyes light up with such emotions was breathtaking. She was always at her most attractive when she was ardent. Unlike other women, Amelia was not the type to be coy, to be bashful, nor did she necessarily seem the sort to exude a seductiveness in her manners. She was innocent in many respects, was constant in her personal actions more often than not, acting the same around people as she always did. If Ivan had to guess, he would say that most of the time America didn't realize she was flirting when it seemed as though she was.

But he did truly feel bad at the insults always hurled her way. He never used to feel this way, he had once been one of the chief instigators of such rumors or accusations, but now he didn't like them. They were hurtful and derogatory and something that he felt should _not _be applied to Amelia. Ever.

"So everyone was in it to change me?" the blonde went on, still looking a bit upset.

"_Nyet_," Russia shook his head quickly, wanting to alleviate some of her pain. "Your brother…_Kanada_?... he was against it. Germany was also against it, and Austria. Britain was not too sure about it either."

At hearing the names listed, America appeared to calm considerably. She looked almost helpless, very young and unsure as she stared at him thoughtfully. "So…Mattie _didn't _want to do this?"

"I do not believe so," Ivan shook his head again. "I think he tried to misdirect everyone."

Amelia slouched back in the booth, looking a bit pathetic. "I guess I shouldn't have slammed the door in his face the other day," she muttered.

"He came to see you?" Russia asked.

"Yeah, he and Artie have been coming by a lot to apologize, but I didn't want to talk to them." She winced. "Maybe I should have."

"But you talked to me," The Slav pointed out, confused. "Why would you listen to me and not to your own family?"

"Well it's not like I had much say in the matter, is it?" America glared. "They actually respected my wishes to leave me alone after I told them to leave. You, you big yeti, started breaking down my door and then broke into my house!"

Russia blushed a bit, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassedly as he smiled. "Well, my way got more results."

Amelia snorted. "Yeah, but I wouldn't recommend doing it anymore. You're lucky I was feeling generous today."

"You held me at gun point."

The poor waitress walked by at that moment and nearly dropped the bottle of wine and glasses. The two nations looked over at her while the woman stared back with wide eyes. Russia didn't like the interruption and chilled his smile, hopefully to ward off the other woman. "If you drop that, I'm not paying for it," he told her kindly.

America rolled her eyes at her dinner partner. "Thanks, I think we're ready to order," she smiled reassuringly at the worker.

"O-okay," the woman nodded shakily before taking out her notepad. "What would you like, ma'am?"

"I'll have the Atlantic salmon, please."

"Very good choice," she smiled at her nation before turning slowly towards the other. "And you, sir?"

Looking down at the food items for the first time, Ivan ordered the first thing that caught his eye. "_Da_, I will have the swordfish."

Scribbling out the orders quickly, the waitress took their menus. "All right! I'll get this in for you. I'll be back to check on you soon."

When she was gone, America turned back to the Russian. "I _always _have a gun. I was generous not to shoot you when you _broke _into my home," she carried on, as though they had not been interrupted at all.

"It was the only way you would listen to me," Ivan defended. "You would have ignored me otherwise."

"You're right. I would have."

"Then how could I have gotten you to listen to me?" Russia scowled, becoming frustrated. "How do you expect anyone to apologize and make amends if all you would do is ignore them?" America's disdainful expression stalled. "You had your brothers come to you because they were worried and wanted to atone themselves, but you left them feeling guilty and to suffer longer than need be. You are very selfish, _Amerika_."

Bright blue eyes snapped over to peer into amethyst, distress clear alight in them, and shock. "I am _not _selfish!" the girl nearly shrieked. "All I do for this ungrateful world is give, give, give, and most of the time I don't even get anything in return! I work my ass off to try and keep the world safe, but am I appreciated? No! Everyone just gets angry at me, telling me I'm 'too involved' or that I'm doing something for my own personal gain! Is that fair? No!

"The one time I feel like things are changing, and that maybe people are starting to appreciate me, or at least starting to notice or understand all that I'm trying to do, _BAM_!" she slammed her hands down on the table. "I find out that it's all a lie. People don't really appreciate me. They don't like me! My own friends, my _family_, just got bored and wanted to play a game with me. They wanted to _change _me! Do you know how much that hurts? To know that you're not good enough for anyone? That everyone else in the world _hates _you? That the only time they can bother to be nice to you is when they'll get a good laugh out of it?"

Russia's eyes clouded over as the speech hit close to his heart. Too close. Again, he knew how America felt. As the Soviet Union, he was never appreciated, never liked. He had received only irrational hatred and suspicion by everyone, when all he had wanted to do was to make a place where things were fair, equal! Was that so bad? To want the world to be a better place?

But of course such goals were impossible, utopias never within reach. He had learned a hard lesson then, had received so much anger from the rest of the world, and to a point, still did. He understood where America was coming from, understood how frustrating and defeating it could be when you honestly and sincerely poured your heart into something, with the only rewards being cries of fury.

Lucky for Ivan, however, the little American across from him had not noticed his momentary lack of focus. It was sometimes a blessing that she was unable to sense the mood of the room, as the Slav had not wanted another awkward silence like they had already shared when in America's house earlier. It was just easier and less revealing should she not be aware.

"No," the girl went on, turning away from her dinner partner. "If I want to be mad at them, then I'll damn well be mad at them as long as I please! It's their own fault! They need to know that they can't keep doing this to me. I'm _not _someone that they can just push around. I'll not be made to look like a fool at their digression!"

Despite knowing that she had a right to be furious, knowing that it would be easier to feed her anger, Ivan found he couldn't. He had become so bitter, allowed to fester in his own hatred in the past due to personal misfortunes. But to have someone as young and striking as America become more like him…it would be tragic. Without fully understanding why he felt this way, Ivan made up his mind that America could not be left to stew in her own rage, and the only way to save her was to help her see the other side.

"It is true," Russia admitted. "You should not have to be part of their games. But isn't it a better thing to do to hear the others' apologies? To forgive them? Besides," the Slav smiled a bit puckishly, "after you forgive them, won't they feel worse because you were the bigger person? What is that phrase you used to always tell me? 'Kill them with…kindness?'"

America stared at the Russian blankly without blinking. Ivan couldn't tell what she was thinking, as she stared, but it was starting to make him feel uncomfortable. The awkwardness was only felt on his side, he was sure, but Russia was relieved when the waitress came out with their food before she left them to eat before she returned to check on them again.

When Amelia didn't move, Ivan decided that if things were going to return to any sort of sense of normality, he would have to be the one to take the initiative. Taking up the wine bottle, he popped it open with practiced skill before pouring them each a glass. It smelled wonderful, the wine, the food, everything. Normally, he wasn't sure red wine went with their type of meal, but he didn't say anything. This was what America had wanted, and he would oblige her and her oddities today.

"Better eat up before it gets cold," he told her as he took up his fork and knife.

Minutes stretched on, Russia eating his food slowly, waiting for the other to begin, while the American stared on. At last, however, she spoke. "I don't understand you."

Ivan smirked. "You're not supposed to."

"I mean it," the girl pressed. "What's your angle?"

"My 'angle'?"

A horrible scowl shadowed over America's face as she leaned forward menacingly. It wasn't too often that the western nation could frighten Russia, but that look actually did a bit. "What do you want from me?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Leaning back instinctively, Ivan's first intuition was to grab something and smash it over America's head when she glared at him like that. But reminding himself that situations that required that reaction were long gone and that he was trying to win the girl over stayed the man's itching hands. Instead, he set about trying to find a good reason, trying to remember his English which seemed to have been sucked out of him when she glared at him with such malevolence burning in those usually warm eyes.

"Nothing," he shook his head, amazed that the strange Germanic language actually came out instead of his own.

"Don't give me that," the blonde growled, reminding Ivan of a tiger. It was actually breathtaking. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"I…Well…You were being nice to me," his accent was thicker than normal, but he was pleased he had at least gotten the syntax correct.

He didn't have time to worry about how childish the answer sounded before America barked out a biting laugh. "Of course I was! I was trying to be nice to everyone. But that's not the point. The point is that you've gone above and beyond the normal call of duty to making amends after offending another country. An e-mail would have been typical, a call even. But _not _showing up at my door and offering to take me out for lunch. And what's even _more _unusual" —Ivan swallowed hard—"is that now you're even telling me not to be angry and are trying to get me to forgive my family so quickly! 'Kill them with kindness'? Are you serious? Where the hell is the Russia that I know and distrust so much?"

Feeling at a great disadvantage, like he was being attacked unprepared, Ivan mustered up his own scowl, before he leaned in as well. "Did you ever stop and think, you selfish, _thoughtless_ girl, that you're not the only one who is trying to change?" Amelia blinked. "I am honestly trying to put forth an effort to get closer, to not be so aggressive towards you, and you jump down my throat the first chance you get while I am try to prove it. All you ever think about is yourself, did you ever stop to think that that's the reason people don't like you?"

Silence.

Once again, the two great nations of the east and west were locked in a battle of wills, glaring at each other from across the table. Russia tried to pour old grievances and anger into his glare, but found he couldn't. Times were changing, and all he could see now was the smiling photo of himself and Amelia from long ago, standing together happily, like there was nothing wrong with the world. How could he keep up this façade? He didn't hate America. He _loved _Amelia. To act like this was starting to cause him bodily discomfort. It physically _hurt _to have to be like this.

"Shit!" America broke contact, as she stared down at the table with wide eyes.

At her surprised, alarmed expression, Ivan began to panic as well. Had Amelia realized what he was trying to do? Had she actually been able to piece together his affections for her? That was impossible! Everyone knew that Americans were too dense to understand someone else's feelings but their own! But maybe this competition had made her the wiser for it? Maybe she had finally come to understand what it meant when someone revered her in such away?

Those beautiful blue eyes were back on Russia's face looking worried before she began scooting around the big horseshoe booth, almost tentatively, closer to him. Ivan became lightheaded and he just knew he was blushing. Why was she coming closer to him? Surely she wasn't just going to throw away sense and reason because she figured out that he loved her, would she? That was not in Amelia's character. Why wasn't she still angry?

Ivan became more and more confused as the American kept coming his way. Finally, she stopped when she was less than an inch away from him. She looked down, Russia kept his eyes locked on her face, and before he knew it, he felt once again a searing heat around his heart.

Blinking rapidly, finding that he needed to lean back to keep himself upright, Ivan looked down for the first time. For the second time in a year, he saw his heart in Amelia's hands, blood dripping between her fingers. She looked a little worried, as she had the last time this situation had occurred, but she remained focused on her task.

With what seemed to be growing practiced skill, she unbuttoned his shirt with one hand while the other held onto his heart gently. She undid all of the buttons before pushing up his undershirt to find the hole she knew would be there.

The Slav stayed perfectly still as he watched the American work. His face was burning, and his heart was beating wildly. He wasn't sure why, but this heat was enthralling. He hadn't noticed before when it had happened, but this fire that seemed to consume his heart was beautiful. There was pain that accompanied it, to be sure, but there was also a pleasure, one that outweighed whatever discomfort he might feel. The balance it created was stunning.

When she had finally completed her trials, Amelia, with both hands now, placed the heart back into the hole from whence it had come, keeping her hands over it while the flesh mended together, as though by keeping her hands in place, it might help seal the heart away more securely. They stayed there like that for several minutes, neither one saying a word. Ivan was leaning back, sweating, trying to see the blonde's face, while America seemed determined to hide.

"Will…will it be okay?" Amelia's voice came out soft, almost small, sounding so unlike herself that it surprised the Russian, as she lowered her hands away from him.

"_D-da. _It should be," he nodded slowly. "It can stay out for a while, remember?" He did not like how distressed she sounded.

"Will it stay in now?" she asked, looking up with wide eyes.

"_Da_, I think it's scarred up again." He lifted his shirt up once more and true enough, the normal large scar was once more painted across his chest.

The blonde looked away again, her cheeks burning red. "Did…did I cause that to happen?"

Seeing her look so guilty, so distraught was something that Russia would have paid to have seen long ago, but now it only made his heart ache. "I do not know," he lied. "Sometimes it just…comes out."

Still refusing to look up, Amelia gave a shaky sigh. "Y-you're right, you know," she confessed quietly, running a nervous hand through her hair. "I _am _selfish. I don't like to think about others, especially if I think they've done something wrong to me. I didn't _want _to forgive Artie or Mattie because…well, because they had hurt _me… _And well_…_You were right about everything."

It was not often that Ivan regretted harsh words. He usually stated them because they were true, but now that didn't seem to help matters any. A part of him wanted to recant the words, make her feel better, but another part knew that she had to realize her faults, had to learn a lesson. America was still quite young, still had yet to experience or live with situations that the rest of Europe or the east had for hundreds of years now. Ivan wouldn't wish some of his experiences on the girl, of course, but he did want her to learn from them, to listen to him so that she wouldn't make the same mistakes he had.

"You are still young," he said gently. "Your actions might not always be acceptable, but they are, in part, understandable how you feel and view the world. You are still changing and coming into your own."

America looked up at him, her eyes shielded. "You know," she said gently. "You really do understand where I'm coming from, don't you? You know what it's like, don't you? The hurt, the betrayal? You really do understand what it's like to be on the top, but with the world against you."

Russia said nothing as he looked down.

"That's why I like you." Ivan snapped his head up to stare disbelievingly at the girl beside him. "I do," the blonde admitted, her face tinged with red, though her eyes were set, determined. "Unlike everyone else, you get it. You always have. We're not so very different, are we? I mean, we've always been different from the rest of the world, neither one of us European, though not eastern. We have so much western influence, and yet we've always been looked down upon by Europe. But we showed them, didn't we?" she smiled bitterly. "We became the most powerful nations in the world in the end. We proved that we didn't need them."

Once more, the Russian's thoughts went back to the old photo that was sitting in the back of America's shelves, back to a time when they had always talked so familiarly like this. Always saying that one day soon, they would be the ones Europe looked to, that one day they'd be the ones who got to laugh last. And in the end, with tragic twists and turns along the way, they had been right, and what they had dreamed about had come true, though not how they had imagined. Neither one had laughed.

"We did," Ivan nodded slowly, finding it was hard to form words when such sparkling eyes were upon him.

Slowly, for the first time since coming to North America, Amelia's lips began to twitch and a soft smile seemed to grow on her face. A real smile also came to Ivan's features when he realized this. It seemed that no matter what, he and America were destined for conflict, but from that difference came deeper understanding and mutual growth. Perhaps there was a chance for love after all? Perhaps Ivan wasn't just chasing a dream. Maybe he could _make _this work.

The moment of understanding was ruined, however, with the sound of shattering class and a shrill scream.

The two nations, startled, turned to stare to the left to find their waitress gawking at them with wide brown eyes. There was a pool of water and broken glass around her feet, which had probably once been a pitcher moments before. The woman's hands were shaking as she pointed a finger from one personification to the other. When neither Amelia nor Ivan knew what to say, and just sat there, the poor girl screamed again and ran off, back towards the kitchen.

Ivan and Amelia watched her go with confusion before they looked at one another. Amelia looked down at Ivan's shirt, while Ivan stared at Amelia's hands and hair. When they caught each other's eyes again, they both burst out laughing, loud and long as they looked at all the blood that had been smeared around.

"O-oh my God, that's _sooooo_ f-funny!" the blonde gasped out, leaning onto Russian's shoulder as she continued to shake with mirth.

"H-her _face_!" the Slav laughed, slamming his fist down on the table. Their booming hilarity probably didn't help the rest of the staff feel at ease, but at the same time, neither nation particularly cared at the moment.

"We should _totally _order _Bloody_ Mary's now!" Amelia cackled.

"Bloody Brain," Ivan smirked.

"Bloody Brit!" America hooted happily.

"Bloody Caesar."

"Bloody Shame!"

"Bloody Pearl Harbor—Ouch! What was that for?" Russia rubbed his arm, glaring at the girl.

"Don't think of making any wisecracks, Mr. Red Rasputin," the girl glared, though there was humor twinkling in her eyes.

Rolling his eyes at the joke, Ivan pushed the other nation—none to gently— away from him, causing the girl to fall almost completely over. "Is Rasputin the only Russian Americans know about?"

Amelia laughed again before sitting back up, shaking her blonde head. "No. There's Ivan the _Terrible_."

"Oh look, the American can make a joke," the Slav replied dryly, before patting her on the head. "Good for you, _malisha_."

Still smiling impishly, Amelia swatted his hand away. The blonde chuckled a bit for a moment before saying, "We should probably go clean ourselves up before they come back and freak out again."

Ivan pouted playfully. "Where would the fun in that be?"

America pushed him so that he nearly fell out of the booth. "Get walking, Komrade Kol," she smirked.

Rolling his eyes, Russia snorted. "Fine. On the condition that you never call me that again."

"No dice," the girl shook her head. "I like that name too much," she winked. "But if you do wash up, I promise to be a polite lunch date and sit and listen to all your weird stories," she smiled innocently.

"My stories are _not _weird! You're the one that always talks about painting armadillos."

"That was just the one time!" America cried. "And it was a _good _story! Admit it, you liked it."

"It was about as funny as a root canal," he snorted.

Amelia laughed. "That's funny!" Ivan felt a bit pleased with himself. "What do Russians know about dental care?"

The good feeling was gone once again. Ivan felt no regret as he pushed the American away from him with as much force as he dared use in public. It knocked the girl over flat against the seat. "Ouch!" she cried.

"Russians have good dental hygiene, thank you," he defended. "Just because we don't go showing it off to everyone like you Americans do doesn't mean that we—"

"We don't show off!" the girl cried. "We're just a naturally happy people."

The Slav decided not to comment upon that as he snorted. The good natured bickering continued between the two before they had a chance to get up and wash themselves off as the manager and the cook came out with the still pale waitress. When the manager demanded to know what had happened, the two personifications had an interesting time explaining to them just what had occurred without causing panic. But because of America's brilliant oratory skills and beginning it all off with "Don't worry, his heart just fell out of the big hole in his chest" they were not successful in keeping horror levels low.

It was as he was listening to America try to calm her people down, even at one point tried to reach out to the frightened waitress with bloody hands, that Ivan decided that the girl was crazy. She had started off the day furious with him, and now it was almost as if she had never found out about the competition. Had he really gotten through to her, made her understand that his intentions were at least good? Only time would tell, but for the time being, he was happy to be back into this easy teasing and mocking.

And he knew now without a trace of doubt in his mind now, that he loved her, and all of her ridiculousness.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>A lot of people don't like the "love-hate" couples, but aren't they just more interesting to read/play with? ^^ If Amelia's emotions seemed to swing back and forth a little, remember that she is struggling with a lot of feelings right now, and more will be explained next time. :)

**Food/ Drinks: **I was just in Washington D.C. two weeks ago while on tour, so I kept my eyes open for restaurants. McCormick and Schmick's Seafood has three locations in the D.C. area. I got menus and times for the restaurants, so everything I've alluded to in this including food/drinks and prices, should be accurate.

And if you hadn't figured it out, everything (including the title) with the word "Bloody" in this is an alcoholic drink. The only one I've ever had was a Bloody Mary, but eh, please don't go out and try all of these just because you know they exist now…or at least not all at once. As our good friend Captain Morgan says "Drink Responsibly!"

**Fat Ratios: **Technically, America is _not _the fattest country in the world when looking at the percentage of the population. According to Forbes, the USA has dropped down to 9th at 74.1% Nauru is said to be the largest at 94.5%. BUT before you say anything, Americans, that's not something to be proud of, 9th still sucks. The Russian Federation is at 92nd at 49.1%.

**Russian: **малышa- malisha- (f) little one.

'**Nother Note: **Sorry this took a while to get up. Things were crazy with touring and getting back into school…and then I got engaged when I got back, so blame it on my new and shiny fiancé. ^^ Anyway, hope you enjoyed this! And questions or comments, feel free to let me know. Thanks everyone!


	13. Chapter 13: Kalinka

**Chapter Thirteen: Kalinka **

The lunch at McCormick and Schmick's Seafood had been a grand success for the two nations. After America had been able to calm down the workers, explaining to them that it was _common_ for Russia's heart to pop out at random times, things had gone on swimmingly…for them at least. They ended up staying at the restaurant for another few hours before they realized that they couldn't stay longer with human customers coming in. They would be too distracting. But it had been a good time, and although she knew she shouldn't be, Amelia was sorry that it ended so soon.

As they walked out after Russia had made good on his promise and paid for everything, Amelia hugged her coat around herself tightly, stuffing her gloved hands into her pocket. They stood together a bit awkwardly for a moment before she sighed. "Well, that was fun," she smiled up at Russia before turning away quickly. It hurt too much to see him so happy and comfortable. "Thanks for lunch and stuff…guess you gotta be going now, huh?"

The large nation shrugged, still wearing that same small, warm smile he seemed to adapt around her lately. "I do not see why this lunch date has to end."

"But it's not lunch anymore," Amelia felt herself becoming uncharacteristically shy and even nervous. Why was she so freaking jumpy around Russia all of the time?

Russia frowned for a moment in thought, his amethyst eyes shining pensively. As she watched him, America could not help but take note—not for the first time—just how beautiful his eyes really were. They were not like Austria's or Estonia's or anyone else's that she could remember seeing with similar colors. Russia's eyes were dark, deep, and yet they always sparkled with a light that she couldn't begin to guess its origins. She could admit to liking his eyes, as she always had, from the very first time she had met him, there had always been something about his eyes…

But that had been a couple hundred years ago and things change. People change, times change, relationships change. All of her relationships had certainly changed.

"We could perhaps go for a walk?"

Russia's deep voice battered through her musings like the Cossacks charging into battle. Blinking several times, Amelia truly looked at the man she had been studying a moment ago before turning away with a slight blush she hoped she could blame on the wind. "A walk?"

"_Da_. Walk all that food off, little piglet," he smirked.

All good feelings left the girl as she glared at the Russian, though she was distressed to find she could only half-heartedly do so. "Ha ha, a fat joke. Like I've never heard one before," she rolled her eyes. "Tell me, how long did it take you to think of that one?"

The larger nation didn't seem discouraged by the sarcasm at all, but instead smiled brighter. "About as long as it would take you to come up with another worthless reality television show."

"Boy, you're quick today, aren't cha'? What happened? Did you fall on your head sometime before meeting up with me?" she swatted at him playfully.

Again, the Russian laughed. The truly happy noise was still so strange to her ears after years of bitterness between them. She could still remember when they had been closer, still able to laugh at one another and not have to worry about if the other was going to destroy the world. In retrospect, the whole Cold War thing had been pretty stupid, but it was amazing how paranoia and fear, coupled with a few good lies from both governments, could really whip up negativity between powers. Image was everything, and years ago, the former USSR and the USA had both done their fair share of kindling that negativity and transforming it into hatred.

"_Nyet_," the large nation shook his head. "I would have a dent here if I had." He pointed to the top of his head.

To this, America laughed back, really and truly cheerful. She liked it when he joked. He was really a funny guy; witty, good for a tease. "Well, I guess it'll always remain a mystery," she shrugged, sending a wink his way. "A walk around the capitol it is then!" she cried delightedly, before starting off. Russia had been to D.C. before, of course, but she felt like she wanted to show him around on a less diplomatic level.

The wintery wind blew all around, hitting the two nations solidly as they walked, but for once, Amelia wasn't thinking about the cold. No, her mind was on the Russian beside her who would not get that blasted smile off of his face. She had wondered once why he smiled all of the time. His people didn't really smile much, didn't really see a need, some believing that if you smiled too much, it meant that you were dishonest, or something. America couldn't understand that, but knew it was true. But unlike his people, Russia smiled.

In the back of her mind, Amelia wondered if it had something to do with _Ivan _and not _Russia_, but then another part wasn't so sure. Sneaking a glance at his face, the blonde decided that whatever the reason for his smiles, she liked it. He didn't smile as much when she had been younger, and when he had been a little crazier, she had hated the emptiness of his smile, but now it was nice. It was nice and although she could not always tell what he was thinking with his smile in place, she found that she could discern a few emotions in that look.

And that made her happy.

They walked around by the Lincoln Memorial, stopping every so often when Russia seemed to find something worth looking at. He seemed so honestly interested that Amelia couldn't help but be delighted to play tour guide and explain the significance of this and that. There weren't too many people around now since it was winter, no big groups of school children on their fieldtrips, so it was easy to maneuver around. The relative quiet combined with the cold air seemed to ease the Russian man's nerves. He had seemed so anxious when he had first come here, even at times in the restaurant, but now he seemed peaceful.

"Is there something wrong, _Amerika_?"

Amelia blinked several times. "H-huh? What? No. Why?"

The other nation shrugged slightly. "You were just staring at me. I thought maybe I had done something wrong."

"Oh!" she looked away, trying to think fast to save face. "No, you didn't do something wrong or anything. I was just…I thought I saw something on your face, you know?" she lied. "Right here," she pointed to her own cheek for example.

Russia frowned before reached up with his gloved hand to wipe at the place she had indicated. He rubbed it for a moment before looking down at his hand. "Did I get it?"

There were times when Amelia didn't even understand her own thought process, but in that moment, instead of just nodding and dropping the subject, she shook her head. "No. Here, let me get it."

Taking off her own glove, Amelia stood on her tippy toes and brushed her finger along the Russian's cheek gently, pretending to wipe something away. She didn't know why she had suddenly felt compelled to touch him, but she had. His heart was cold, true, but his eyes certainly weren't, and because of that, she wanted to know about his skin. Was he really just the cold, icy bastard she had said he was for so long or was he really like everyone else? She had never been able to touch his skin before as it would have been improper, and then with them being enemies and all…well, America felt justified in her curiosity.

What she found, however, when she touched his cheek, was that Russia really wasn't all too different than any other man. His skin was colder that a normal humans, true, but the skin texture was the same. It was rougher than her own, a bit leathery, but that was to be expected with his age and the weather conditions and climates of his home. There was just the barest hint of stubble growing, indicating that soon he would have a nice five o'clock shadow. She wondered what he would look like with a beard…

"Is it gone?"

"Yes!" she said too quickly, stepping back away from him, pretending to flick something off her fingers. "It was just a little black speck."

"You saw a _speck_?" he smirked.

"Against your skin I did," she snorted. "Seriously dude, ever heard of a tanning bed?"

"I believe it was you who once told me recently that tanning beds were 'cancer in a box,' _da_?"

"Well they are if you use them too often!" America rolled her eyes.

"Do you use them?" the Russian cocked his head to the side, as though he really was curiously.

"Hell no!" Amelia snorted. "As the Awesome States of America, I've always been blessed with the perfect golden tone."

For one, unsettling moment, Russia stared at the blonde. All sorts of irrational panicky things flittered through Amelia's mind as those pretty purple eyes gave her a once over. What was he looking at? What was he looking _for_? Did _she_ have something on her face? Did she do something stupid? Was he going to point out all of her other imperfections? That would just be like the old Russia to do.

"I suppose you always have, haven't you?" he asked instead, his voice quiet.

It came as a great surprise when America found herself uncurling her muscles. She hadn't known she'd become so tense. But to rally herself, hopefully steer the other nation off course, the blonde smiled once before turning to begin walking again. She really wasn't sure why she was acting like some sort of blushing, pathetic underling nation who got a compliment from her overlord. She didn't like the image, least of all when it concerned her, though she couldn't help the warmth that spread across her chest with the kind words.

The two nations walked around the monuments at a slow pace, just chatting about nothing in particular. America couldn't remember a time when she just walked around looking at her own sights. It was nice, it was peaceful, and she would have never believed that she would be doing something like this with _Russia _of all nations! It didn't seem plausible that she should be spending the afternoon with the Slav alone like this… but it didn't feel _wrong_.

And that's what it always came back to. Every time Amelia was around Russia nowadays, it took her back to a time when they had always gotten along so well, back to the 1800s when they had been _friends_. Russia never seemed to remember how close they were, but America did, and she couldn't help but dwell on the memories. It had been so hard when they had started to fall away from each other, began changing. She had tried so hard in a pathetic attempt to keep things the way they were, but he had seemed adamant about changing and discarding anything that he believed would hold him back. Sadly, she had fallen into that category.

It's not to say that she hadn't helped push him to that as well, politics change over time after all, but it had still hurt to watch someone she had cared about so deeply reject her so violently and so completely. She wondered if he had any regrets about their broken friendship. Logically, nations tried to leave the past behind them, move forward, change along with their people as best as they could. Nations sometimes snapped, went mad from guilt. They had to look forward. But although it was easier to forget, America held on, she held on to him, even though it had hurt.

"Hey, _Amerika_," that steady, deep voice broke her reserve. "Do you want to go get dinner?"

"Dinner?" the blonde frowned. "We just ate a couple of hours ago."

"But it is after five o'clock here. That is dinner time, _da_?" he smiled that oh-too-innocent smile of his.

Pulling out her phone for the first time this date, surprisingly, America checked the time. It was indeed nearly five-thirty. She had managed to spend over six hours in the Russian's presence and hadn't killed him yet. It was a very promising sign, one that raised the American's spirits greatly and gave her hope.

"Well, looky there," she smirked. "Yeah, I guess I can eat a light dinner. Where did you wanna go?"

"I do not much care," he shrugged. "What sort of place would you like?"

She thought about taking him to another fancy restaurant, she thought about maybe just going to a bar, but in the end, she couldn't help but feel a little guilty about how much money he had already put out on this excursion. America loved free things, of course, but there was a limit before she started feeling bad about it. She was working on her image, after all, she didn't want to give anyone the excuse to call her greedy, especially if she did indulge in the behavior. How embarrassing .

"You wanna walk to Union Station?" she asked, looking up to see his reaction. "I know it's not the fanciest place in the world, but it might be fun for you to look around. You…haven't really been allowed there much, if I remember correctly."

The older personification cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. "I believe I've only been there twice. In my life," he added as an afterthought. "_Da_, that would be…fun to see." He gave her a rather cheery smile. It made America feel warm in the wintery air.

"Awesome! Sounds like a plan," she beamed before setting off.

As they walked, Amelia took a moment to take note of her Russian companion. He didn't really look too different than he normally did. He was wearing plain black slacks, a green sweater. If he was wearing another shirt underneath that, she couldn't tell as his usual scarf was wrapped around his neck as always, hiding everything else from view. He also adorned his classic long beige coat that had gotten him through many winters. Those ashen, feathery locks of his were still arranged in their usual place, his skin looked as pale as ever, and he was still a giant of a man. Those alluring amethyst eyes were still very much present, annoying her with their beauty and perfection. Really, the only noticeable change in the Russian since the fall of communism was the fact that he had started to gain a little more weight. Apparently his depression had hit hard in his personal life as much as political. And yet, for some reason—Amelia would never admit this fact to anyone even on pain of death—strangely found she liked him better this way, with a little extra fluff. Not to be mean or mocking, but she found it sweet somehow, mainly because when she looked at him now, she saw a giant teddy bear even though Russia was hardly a soft person.

But in a way, it did soften his character a bit, made him not look quite as intimidating. As the Soviet Union, he had been in peek physical condition—as she had been in the Cold War—to take on his respective rivals. And to show off on several occasions, he had gone around shirtless in front of her, to show of true Soviet strength as a means of intimidating her. Honestly, it had done more than just _intimidate _her. It was then that America realized that muscles were all well and sexy, but they were not the only thing appealing about a man. Not all real men had six-pacts.

Looking away from her companion, Amelia realized that she was going to have to stop staring at him. She didn't want another awkward moment to pass between them today. She would eventually run out of believable lies—if indeed Russia had actually fallen for the whole speck thing—and she could _not _get caught in her true feelings. How horrifying would that be? She shuddered at the thought of his teasing.

They made it to the station with no trouble what so ever. The two nations stood out in the crowd rather strikingly, as it was nearly empty this time of year. But even if they were not some of the only people walking around, their heights and mere presents would have been enough to clear a path. As a nation, Amelia had always marveled at the affects her person could have on her people. It was exhilarating. She was quite tall for a woman and what she might lack in height, her personality and magnitude of being made up for it.

Russia on the other hand, now there was a man that _demanded _respect. Not only was his personality such that his present contracted attention, but his height only added to his intimidating presence, as well as his bulk. He was a large man, and consequently, America was a large woman. It was a pity that they couldn't have been superheroes together, because Amelia was positive that they would just be the most badass and awesome heroes ever, kicking ass in true superhero action!

They walked down the steps and America led him to the food court. It was only when she saw just how few peopled there were that she recalled that the food courts closed in a little less than an hour. "So, where do you want to eat?" she asked.

The big man looked around and shrugged. "What do you like?"

"Wanna grab a slice of pizza?"

"Just one?" he frowned.

America laughed. "Well, if you want more than one, fine, but they're big slices."

The Russian snorted. "Well, I am a big man. They might be small compared to me."

The blonde rolled her eyes. "Get over yourself," she shoved him playfully as they walked over to the pizza stand. "While it makes sense that the largest nation in the world has the largest ego, it's really not all that flattering."

"What ego?" he frowned. "If anyone has the biggest ego in the world, it's you, Miss America."

"Ugh, don't call me that," Amelia wrinkled her nose. "I go by _Ms_. America, thank you. _Miss_ America is _way _too close to the contest. You don't know how many jokes people around the office give me about that."

Purple eyes lit up instantly, and Amelia instantly knew she had done something wrong. "Ha!" the Russian cried. "_Miss _America! How did I never make that connection before!"

"Damnit," the blonde muttered moodily. "Yeah, yeah, it's the funniest thing in the world," she said louder for the Slav to hear. "Just don't go around teasing me or I'll have to break your fingers with a pen again."

"Oh, do not worry for me, _Amerika_, I have learned to keep pens away from your general direction," he beamed happily, but said nothing on the note of teasing her, she noted grumpily.

Realizing that people were staring at them, apparently having heard some of their conversation, Amelia decided not to say anything further and instead ordered pizza for herself. Russia followed after. They had both ordered three slices, Russia getting the fat, deep dish pieces while America preferred to keep the more original slices today. She was pulling out her wallet to pay, when a large hand clamped down over hers, startling her.

"I'm paying," the Russian said seriously.

"Naw, it's cool, dude, I got this. I mean you got lunch, so I'll jus—"

The freaky purple aura of death came around the older nation suddenly as he smiled down creepily, causing America's I-Must-Punch-The-Commie-Bastard-In-The-Face-In-Order-To-Live reflex to start itching intensely, but she reigned in the feeling quite admirably, all things considered. After all, it wasn't everyday that she showed such self-control when it came to the Russian, and she was rather proud of herself…Though she was still terribly creeped out as to why he had suddenly diverted back into his old bizarre ways.

"In my country," he spoke in a quiet, almost accusing tone, "men pay for their dates. Do you think that I cannot take care of you and pay?"

If the expression on the cashier's face behind the counter was anything to go by, Amelia decided that this really was a scary situation and it wasn't just her freaking out. "Get off my hand," she growled instead, not wanting to back down and admit to being intimidated. "I just thought that since lunch cost so much that I could at least get dinner."

"Nonsense," Russia wisely let go of her hand, but crossed his arms over his chest severely. "I will be paying, as I said before."

"Dude, lunch cost—!"

"You wish to offend me?"

Slowly, the America closed her mouth. Oh, he was good bringing out the offense card, and with witnesses around. _Sneaky bastard_, Amelia thought, slowly putting her wallet away. The last thing she really wanted was to start some sort of bizarre national conflict with him over buying pizza. What would the Big P think of that?

"Fine," she snorted. "Buy the damn pizza. Just thought I'd be nice and offer to pay."

"Women shouldn't have to pay when a man asks her out," Russia said seriously.

"You're being sexist, you know that? In today's society, women are just as capable of paying as men are."

"Well, then just note it as something else Russians are lagging behind in also," he snorted with a roll of his eyes.

And just like that, America found herself laughing. The cashier looked a little horrified between the bickering pair, but at the moment, the female nation didn't really care about her confused citizen. Amelia didn't know why, but she always found herself able to appreciate Russia's dark sense of humor, and she admired that he could make fun of himself the way he could. She was really trying to be more like that, but usually jokes about America just upset her. For the time being, however, she put that all a side to just laugh and have fun.

Still giggling, the blonde shook her head. "Just pay for the damn pizza you sexist bastard," she winked.

Likewise, Russia smirked back at her, nodding. "I am glad you see it my way."

The poor cashier took the money, gave the Slav back his change as quickly as possible before she handed them their pizza before she ran in the back to "check something." America just chuckled as she led them to a table.

The two nations said in relative silence at first, eating their food peacefully. People walked by, staring at their country and the giant man with her. Some of the regulars recognized Amelia as their nation and would try to smile, but others just stared at her and her companion. For her part, Amelia just smiled at them before turning back to her meal as others would look on. At the beginning of the day, the blonde had been serious, that she had truly not wanted to be seen out with Russia, but after all that had happened today, she was actually kind of happy that people were seeing her and the large nation. It made her feel… good, like she didn't have to hide.

They were almost finished eating, when Russian decide it was time for conversation. "So, _Amerika_, what sort of music do you like?"

Amelia wasn't sure she liked the sly look about the man's eyes, but decided that it wasn't a harmful question. "I don't know," she shrugged. "All kinds I guess."

"Your rap music and, uh, hip hop?" he sneered playfully.

"Not just rap or hip hop," she smacked his arm. "_All _kinds. As in, from all over the world."

"Probably not mine," he turned from her. "You probably don't even know one song of mine."

"I do too!" she cried, offended that someone would accuse her, _the melting pot of the world_, of not liking or knowing a Russian song. "I know, like, hundreds!"

"Prove it," he challenged. "Sing something for me."

He had trapped her yet again, and America understand it too late. Was he wanting to humiliate her by making her sing in front of everyone? Well, two could play that game. She'd show him! "Well if I sing, _you _gotta dance!"

The request seemed to surprise the Slav, but not unpleasantly so. "Of course, I'll dance."

Silently applauding her own sneaky craft, she turned her attention to trying to come up with a song. It took her a moment as she wanted to think of a good one as she wanted to make Russia dance like a flailing idiot. Shostakovich was her first choice, but she couldn't admit to listening to that romantic music! How humiliating! And that wasn't a good song to humiliate him with dancing anyway.

At last, one song came. "Ahem," she cleared her throat.

"What are you doing?" Russia interrupted before she began. "A true diva must stand for her audience!"

Scowling, Amelia looked around to find that there were some people watching them. She felt her face heat up, but she couldn't let Russia win in this. She couldn't. Not when she had such a wonderful counter attack against him. So, standing up, she pulled him up as well, and situated him several step away before taking a deep breath. For some reason, the bigger nation seemed ready to waltz or something, like he was just waiting for her to start so he could come in and dance her across the room, like he'd know she had been going to do Shostakovich. It was creepy, could the dude really read minds? But she'd show him!

She took a deep breath quickly. She wasn't afraid of public speaking—at all—but public singing was a little different. _Here I go_, and she let out a long, clear note, taking Russia by surprise, along with everyone else. "_Kaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa~linka, kalinka, kalinka moya. __V sadu yagoda malinka, malinka moya!_"

"You are doing a folk song?" Russia questioned.

"Shut it and dance, fancy pants!" she snapped, before singing the refrain once more. The Slav got over his shock soon enough, smiling manically, before he scooted chairs away from around himself, before squatting down to begin the classic Cossack dance he had mastered so long ago.

When she began the slower section, Russia stood up, grabbing her by the hands, and twirled her about in a waltz-like step, as she sang all the while. "_Akh, pod sosnoyu, pod zelenoyu, Spat' polozhite vy menya! Ay-lyuli, lyuli, ay-lyuli, Spat' polozhite vy menya!_"

A small crowd gathered around to watch the strange couple as Russia would alternatively dance with America or squat down to do the Cossack dance or variations of it, sometimes doing seemingly impossible movements that looked like he had twisted his knees out of joint as he had them flop around on the floor, but he always managed to come back up into the classic Cossack unharmed. He would even add in whoops and calls that spiced up the act.

All too soon, however, an announcement was herd over the speakers, stating that the station would be closing soon. To make sure the mood wasn't ruined, she sang the melody one last time before adding a cheer of her own, to which Russia took up as well. And as if they had been rehearsing the routine for weeks, they ended together, the larger nation's chest heaving with a slight sheen of sweat over his skin.

They received a few claps and whistles, but it was mostly just the restaurant staff left that had watched, and they were more confused as to why two crazy people had been singing and jumping about in Union Station, especially without a permit. With nothing else to present, America grabbed Russia's hand, bowed, and ran off up the stairs. "Thank you and good night!" she called over her shoulder, laughing hysterically as she went, almost literally dragging the confused Slav behind her.

They ran up the stairs, through the hall, and made it outside just before the whole station closed. Once outside, the American laughed a big booming laugh, twirling about happily before turning to stare at her companion, who was smiling back at her. Warmth spread across Amelia's chest at seeing those soft amethyst eyes and the tender smile directed at her. It had been a long time sense she had seen that look from him. Although she didn't want to admit it, she relished the affection that seemed to have over taken them both.

But the Russian seemed to realize what sort of look he had been giving her, and almost immediately straitened his features into his customary blank smile as he looked away. He appeared to be a little nervous again, and when his true smile slipped away, Amelia nearly panicked. Was he going to leave now? The thought distressed her more than it should have.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, claiming his attention once more. "Why don't we go walk by the river?" she suggested quickly. "I added in that new memorial for Dr. Martin Luther King Jr…have you seen it?"

If America hadn't of known better, she would have thought that the larger nation looked relieved at the proposal. "_Nyet_, I have not …yet," he smiled almost conspiratorially at her.

Beaming, the blonde nodded quickly, only feeling a little stupid for asking the question. Of _course _he wouldn't have been there yet, but she pushed that aside and decided to lead the way.

The two nations once more set across D.C in the wintry air, walking at a leisurely pace. As they went, she thought through the day and how much Russia had done for her, buying her food and dancing with her. He had actually been rather polite the whole day.

The realization hit America hard as she thought about her treatment of the other nation in return all afternoon. She had yelled at him, held him at gun point, accused him, interrogated him, and spent quite a bit of his money. It was only now that she felt like a bitch for having been so hard on him, especially since he had agreed to tell her everything she'd wanted to know about the contest.

Oh sure, she'd gotten the main story from Germany, but she'd wanted to know Russia's excuse, _his _side of the story and see if it matched up with the German's. Why? She would have told anyone else that it was driven by her more morbid sense of curiosity, but truthfully she really did want to know what Russia had to say on the matter. They had been getting along so _well _lately that it had actually given her hope…

"It is a nice night."

Turning to look at the nation beside her, America offered a small smile to the Slav before she turned away to peer out over the water. She didn't really remember making it to the memorial, but she was glad that Russia hadn't seemed to notice her lack of attention. "Yeah, it really is…though it's cold."

"It is not bad," he waved her off lightheartedly. "When you get up into the tundra of Siberia, _that _is when it starts to get cold."

Amelia smirked, before shoving the other just as good-humoredly. "Yeah, yeah, we all know that you're the abominable snowman or whatever, Big Guy. No need to brag about your imperviousness to below zero temperatures."

"I am _not _a Yeti," he pouted, though Amelia could tell he was only trying to get her to feel bad for him. It wasn't going to work. "Besides, if you are cold, you need to wear a more practical coat. One that actually keeps you warm."

"My bomber jacket is _totally _practical!" the blonde cried. "Whatever," she pouted, crossing her arms. "At least I'm still more awesome than you."

"Careful, _Kalinka, _people might start mistaking you for that Prussian if you keep using that word."

"Hey, just because," America began her rebuttal, but trailed off. "…_Kalinka_?"

Russia smiled down at her amusedly, before walking towards the memorial curiously, not bothering to answer her. America didn't stop him, too surprised by the amount of affection behind the new nickname. As he studied the monument more closely, the blonde decided to take the opportunity to study _him_ more closely while he was too preoccupied to notice.

Today had been really fun, actually, she realized. Although stressful at first, she had come to enjoy their bantering and all of the laughing they'd shared today. How long had it been since they had shared a good chuckle together without it being cruel and laughing _at _the other one and their misfortunes? Well, they had when they'd skyped a while back, but that had been one of the first times since Russia had been free of communism. That day had been a lot of fun too, and Amelia had treasured it; it had built up her hope, her hope that maybe they could be friends again, true friends, and maybe Russia would finally notice her as more than just a nation…

But that hope, Amelia reasoned practically, was nothing but a _hope_. No matter how much she wanted to get out into the world, make amends with Russia, she couldn't. Not fully. There'd been so much bad blood between them that neither one could forget the hurts and wrongs the other had dealt them. They had wounded each too badly for them to suddenly just become friends with a snap of their fingers. Russia didn't even really like her that much! And yet, America was supposed to be the land of dreams, so why couldn't she have _her_s?

"What are you thinking about, _Kalinka_?"

Startled, the younger nation gazed up to find the Slav next to her, staring down kindly. Again, the tenderness was back, and it made Amelia's heart ache. "N-Nothing much. Just thinking."

"You look sad," he frowned ever so slightly. When she didn't speak, Russia seemed to want to speak of something himself, because he shifted uncomfortably for a moment. "Why…" he paused, squirming again. Amelia gave him her full attention. "Why do you have a scar?" he placed his hand over his heart. "Here?"

America froze, averting her eyes quickly, surprised by the personal question. "You ought to know that," she snapped instinctively, but upon seeing his hurt expression, she tried to cover over the harshness. "Well, why do you have a scar there?"

The larger nation took on a thoughtful expression. "Because my heart falls out…I…have been through much heartache. Wars, betrayals, abuse, disappointment…I had not the golden youth you did."

For once, Amelia was not offended with him for saying that. In the past, Russia had often accused her of not understanding reality and for being spoiled because she had had a rather sheltered childhood. There had been little fighting when she grew up and she had had England to look after her. The blonde had always felt a bit guilty for having it easy, but it was also not her fault. But for once, this old allegation wasn't an accusation at all. It was a statement, a simple fact, and America thought that maybe she could understand others resentment better now that she was older.

"So why do you have that scar?" he repeated, a bit frustrated with the mystery. She wondered how long he had actually been pondering the question.

Looking up into his eyes, unafraid, Amelia decided it was time to stop running from her fears. It was time to own up to the truth. She owed herself that. "For the same reason you still have yours." She had meant it to come out even, proud in the stiff admittance kind of way, but it came out sounding small, almost weak, and she hated how pathetic it was as it rang on in the cold air.

"I do not believe that can be so," he smiled sadly at her. "Mine is from torment and heartache, too many disappointments in life," he repeated bitterly.

Not meeting the other's eyes, America gazed out over the water. "Yeah. I know…Mine too."

She didn't dare meet the Russians eyes then to gage his reaction, but from her peripheral vision, she had a good guess of what he must have been thinking by how straight he suddenly stood. "Amelia—"

"_Phew_! Boy, it's getting late!" Amelia stretched her arms up over her head, pretending she hadn't heard him, and trying to ignore the way her name rolled off his tongue. "Maybe I should be getting home. Got work in the morning, you know? Got some…calls and stuff tomorrow…and stuff…"

A light chuckle escaped the Russian, but he nodded. America peeked up enough to see the brightest smile she had ever seen on the Russian's face. He suddenly seemed so different, just so very…warm. "_Da_, I suppose you are right. Always busy, you Americans are."

There was nothing to be insulted about this time by the phrase, and the blonde smiled a bit, biting her lip in vain hope that it would make her blush disappear. She started walking, and noticed how easily Russia fell into step beside her. She had the wild urge to hold his hand as they walked, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. But she still thought about it, the entire way.

The way back seemed to take less time than before, and the two nations remained silent, America trying to look anywhere but the man beside her, and Russia staring straight ahead, a stupidly happy smile still plastered on his face. It really did look goofy and cute, and Amelia didn't want to see it lest she end up saying something she shouldn't.

At last, they made it to the doorstep of her apartment. Russia respectfully stayed a step back, somehow knowing that she needed some space. "Well, thanks for taking me out and stuff today," Amelia began awkwardly, folding her hand behind her back. "It was…fun."

"You are very welcome, _Kalinka _," the Slav beamed. "I am only happy you accepted."

"It's not like I had too much say," she mumbled with a shrug, trying not to let the nickname fluster her. "Well, I'll, uh, see ya around, Russ—"

"Ivan."

America's eyes snapped up to stare into the other nation's face. The seriousness it held could not be ignored, and his eyes were sparkling with so many things it was confusing to think about any one of them. But overall, there was hope in his eyes, a hope that was so fresh and fragile, America couldn't help but be awestruck by it. He was making himself vulnerable to her, and she knew it. That delicate hope, so very much like his heart…

"Ivan," she repeated, nodding slowly. "Thanks for today, Ivan."

The realization of her actually calling him by name and not "commie" or "Ruski" or even "Big Guy" must have finally caught up with him, and he seemed a bit confused, as though he hadn't expected her to comply. He smiled shyly and Amelia could make out light pink dusting his cheeks even in the dark street. "Goodnight," he smiled, before turning away to walk back to wherever he was staying.

Seeing him go like that somehow hurt, and Amelia, despite what her reason was screaming in her head, she couldn't let this happen, not when he had given her that tiny little hope of his to protect. "Ivan!" she called out.

The Russian turned just in time for America to latch on to him, hands grabbing fists of his jacket, before she pulled him down and giving in a quick peck on the lips. The spontaneous outburst didn't just catch Ivan by surprise, as Amelia took a step back after letting him go, face scarlet, before she shifted from foot to foot. "Okay, um…night!" and before the bigger nation could have said anything, America ran back to her door, unlocked it with abnormal speed and accuracy, before she slammed it shut behind her, locking it, leaning against it, as though to bar from attack.

It took her several minutes to get her heartbeat steady again, but when she felt like she could stand up and walk inside without fainting, she went into the living room and flopped down on the couch. She covered her eyes with her hands, laughing as she did so. "I'm an idiot!" she cried to the empty house, basking in the glow of her first kiss.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Just who finished a huge presentation over Russian folk music? Also, big thanks once more to Stavr for giving me a list of Russian folk songs for said presentations. :) Yay for me turning around and using some information for fanfiction! :D

**Russian: **You can look up the lyrics yourself if you'd like, but I from what I can gather, _Kalinka = _Juniper berry/ snowberry. If you listen to _Kalinka_, be sure to also listen to the Red Army choir version of it because it's so epic sounding. ;A;

'**Nother Note: **We've got one more chappie to go here folks, so thanks for all the support! Can I beg for more reviews for this chapter? Any questions, comments, complaints, feel free to ask. Thanks!


	14. Postlude: Winner Takes All

**Postlude**

**or**

**Winner Takes All**

Time went by just as it always does, and once more the countries found themselves sitting in yet another world meeting. It was a necessary evil to have them twice a year, but it still got old for the countries to have to travel all around the world so often. Or maybe the bleak outlook was just Canada's own melancholy that was bringing him down?

Sitting at a table in the hotel restaurant in Berlin with Britain, France, Veneziano, Spain, Hungary, Austria, and Japan, Matthew wondered why he even bothered to associate with these people anymore. They all seemed just about as miserable as he was due to the fact that no one had been able to get a hold of America for _weeks _now. Austria, however, refused to be distressed and had no trouble crowing loudly, "I told you we shouldn't have done it" to everyone else. France too seemed to try and hide behind indifference, but it wasn't so very convincing since he hated it when any sort of woman was angry with him. And there was the fact that Germany was not talking to any of them at the moment either, which upset Veneziano the most— though it made Romano absolutely delighted, Canada noted.

When they had arrived in Berlin, most of them had been able to at least _talk _to Germany, to apologize for their involvement in making him so depressed and causing a rift between him and Maria. The blonde had listened to their apologies in stony silence, face masked in a hard, unwavering expression, before he gave an unintelligible grunt before he moved on to check the proceedings of the meeting in his own home, leaving them all to wonder if their apology had been accepted or denied. No one approached him again, however, for fear that he might tear their arms off, especially Hungary.

Prussia, for once, attended the meeting, not completely surprising since it was in her capitol too. She stayed close to the blonde German's side, probably to make sure no one else was going to try and steal him away from her, and actually helped him with the guests and the proceedings thus far. She had seen the conspirators all at the table, sitting together, not too long ago. Upon sight, she had stormed over, berating them about getting involved in _West's_ life and that they were "un-awesome dickheads that deserve to be tortured by Russia!"

Each one she had belittled to their faces, none more so than France and Spain, as she must have seen their involvement as a personal betrayal, which had all of them feeling more ashamed of themselves than they had before. After she was done, none of them finding anything to say, Prussia proceeded to flipped them off with a proper Prussian salute before she went back to Germany. It was actually quite amazing she hadn't physically attacked any of them, but then, Matthew suspected that she hadn't wanted to cause Germany any trouble.

The Germans were more of the bitter sort, Canada knew as he watched them, but he also knew it wouldn't last forever, especially since the two came out all right in the end. Or at least, Matthew assumed they did, seeing as he had caught glimpses of them holding hands under the table more than once already, and Prussia rubbing Germany's knee none too innocently when she believed no one could see them. They would be all right now since they had each other.

The one that the North American nation was more concerned about, and justifiably so, was his sister. He had yet to see Amelia, and he wanted to clear things up as much as possible before tomorrow when the conferences actually began. He didn't like his sister being angry with him, and not just because she was a Superpower. If he could just explain that he had been trying to help her on the inside of this operation, maybe she wouldn't be so angry with him. Maybe he could salvage their relationship…

"_Privyet ,_my friends!" a call came from behind them.

They group turned to see the largest conspirator strolling over to them, a strangely happy smile on his face. "A nice day, _da_?" They just stared at him, none feeling particularly inclined to say anything, to which the Russian giggled. "You are looking all so sad! Why is that?"

Canada wasn't sure if the big personification was just mocking them or if he really didn't understand their guilt and grief over what they had done to America. But then again, this whole competition had probably just been some sort of game to him anyway. Russia was probably ecstatic that they had managed to hurt America on such a deeply personal level at long last. Bastard had probably just come over to thank them for planning the game, or to ask what they were going to do next to harm the American. That thought didn't set well at _all _with the Canadian. If the Slav hurt his sister...

"Oh, no reason," Britain spoke up first, his tone dry, dripping with sarcasm. "We're all thrilled at having the world's leading power furious with us. Care to join our pathetic little extravaganza?"

Russia giggled again, shaking his head, his smile like the first warm day after a nine month winter. "You are all so stupid," he laughed happily. "You all must have realized that even if _Amerika_ hadn't found out about the competition from Germany, she would have found out eventually, and even then, it would have all come to not. She would not have gone for any of _you_."

The sheer delight in his voice, mingled with a taunt, seemed to tick off more than just Matthew if the Canadian was any judge of the expressions around him. Surprisingly, it was Japan who spoke up, even before Hungary could have said anything. "We all had more of a chance than you would have," the island responded tartly. "At least _we _had our turns."

For once, the strange purple aura of hatred didn't surround the Russian as it might have done so in the past had Japan spoke to him in such a manner. Canada wondered at it. Instead, the Russian merely cocked his head to the side in amused confusion. "You think so?" It was surprising he outright ignored the last slight the Asian had made against him.

"_Hai_," Japan nodded confidently, not backing down.

The Slav's smile only sweeted in a way that made everyone shiver with dread, making them wish Japan would just stop before things turned violent. "And why is that, little _Yaponiya_? Do you believe me lacking in some manner?"

It was a definite trap, one designed to give the Russian an excuse to attack, but either Japan was too angry to see it, or he was bold enough to challenge the larger man anyway, he spoke up."Because we all at least have feel—"

But thankfully, Japan was cut off when a loud, almost obnoxious call was heard from the other side of the room. "RUSSIA!"

Matthew didn't need to turn around to know that that was the voice of his sister, but he did any ways out of surprise by its sudden appearance. He was sure he wasn't the only one wondering with dread why Amelia was calling out to Russia of all people, but what was even more surprising was the fact that she didn't look angry. Over the course of the Cold War, when either Russia or America would call for the other, it was natural to assume that they were furious and that logic had proven true for such a long time, it was stupefying to witness the contrary.

But America came flying across the room towards the Slav with a pouting expression on her face. If Matthew didn't know any better, he would say that his sister was trying to get the Russian to do something for her in a completely, nonaggressive way. One look at her stance suggested no hostility what so ever. She was calm, collected, and at her most manipulative at the moment if the shining in her eyes was anything to go by. It made the Canadian uncomfortable, but the others at the table still seemed to be stuck on the fact that Amelia had sought out Russia's presence for what seemed like no reason.

Once beside the large nation, America blinked several times, as though she just now realized who it was the Russian was talking with. Her eyes deadened for a moment as she took in their faces, but it was only for that one moment before they lit up again. "Oh, hey guys," she gave a brief smile before shining eyes went back up to Russia. "Come _on _Ivan!" she whined. "You _promised _we could go!" she grabbed his hand and began tugging like an impatient child wanting to get in line at the amusement park.

While everyone, including Matthew, sat flabbergasted at not only the fact that America had apparently made plans with Russia, but that she actually called the Slav _by name_, the Russia just smiled merrily, chuckling not unpleasantly as he was apparently not annoyed with her behavior or tone, which was a surprise. "You must be holding your horses, _Kalinka_," he purred. "It would be rude to run from a conversation like this, _da_?"

After hearing this, Matthew feared his brain was about to implode as it short circuited. It wasn't enough that Russia had basically put his sister in her place for her rude manners, much like a parent, but he had had the _nerve _to call her a pet name. A pet name! _His _sister! Did this man _have _a death wish? The only people who had _ever _gotten away with calling her something remotely as cutesy and tender had been himself and England, and France when America had been smaller, but that was it. Who the hell did Russia think he was calling her "_kalinka_" like that? Did he seriously _want _to die?

As everyone at the table sat on edge, waiting for the explosions, they were all once again thrown for a terrible loop when the blonde merely pouted in that too cute manner of hers that seemed to never fail to get her what she wanted. "Then can't you just excuse yourself so we can go?" she pleaded. "Germany says they close in an hour and I want a little time to look around!"

Matthew was convinced that if there were ever two nations that could give the rest of the world whiplash, it was Russia and America. Seriously! What was happening? When did these two start being nice to one another? More to the point, when did they start hanging out? This didn't make sense! Canada looked around the room, confused as to why the world was still turning.

"Then go wait for me by the door, I will be there in a moment," Russia sighed good-naturedly, a fond smile on his lips.

A bright smiled lit up Amelia's face and she nodded enthusiastically. "Okay!" she cried. As she was turning, however, she made eye contact with Canada, and her smile only widened. "Oh hi, Mattie! Didn't see you there. I'll call you later! Bye!" and without acknowledging anyone else, the blonde girl nearly sprinted away, clearly unable to keep her joy contained at whatever she was planning to do that day.

But while his sister was obviously quite happy, Matthew was quite mystified. After not speaking to her for weeks, her not answering his phone calls, not responding to his e-mails, ignoring him when he came over to visit and apologize, the first time she sees him, she smiles as though nothing had happened? Wasn't she mad at him? What was going on? Amelia didn't just come to an understanding by herself like this and forgive without first yelling and telling her point of view and why she was angry before she was willing to listen to the side and come to forgive. Had she read any of his e-mails then? Listened to his voice mails? But none of this was making sense! How had she come to this sudden forgiveness without first going through her steps first?

Matthew was brought out of his thoughts by a soft chuckle. He looked over at the Slav to find a truly warm smile adorning his lips as he stared after the American. Wait a minute… Russia came over here for no real reason other than to berate them all on the competition, Amelia had sought out Russia, called him Ivan, Russia had called Amelia _kalinka_, Amelia was acting adorable, Russia responded to the adorableness with affection, they were doing something together…

"_Mon Dieu!_" France cried, the first coming out of his reserve. "_You_?" he cried.

Russia just turned to stare down at the Frenchman, a smug smirk now resting on his lips, but he didn't answer as his eyes sparkled brightly with all of his self-satisfaction and the need to gloat. That's when Matthew fully understood the situation, it hitting like a brick wall to the face. That entire exchange he had witnessed a moment ago, Russia and America's actions, they weren't an inexplicable phenomenon, it had all been something much worse than the most heated threats of nuclear war ever had.

"Oh my God," Matthew let his head hit the table as the full weight of the situation settled over him.

"What, what is it?" Britain demanded, getting hyped up, looking for a reason to explode.

Veneziano and Spain also seemed to realize what had happened, though both also seemed like they were trying to deny the fact as much as they still. "You and…America?" Spain choked out at last.

"WHAT?" England screeched, standing up, ready to attack, only to be held down by France and Hungary.

Still looking the most stunned, Japan worked his mouth open and closed several times as he stared at the Russian across from him. It was painfully obvious that nothing that had just happen made any sort of sense to the Asian Islands, but the cruel smile on the Russian's lips was enough familiarity to bring Japan out of his shock, at least in part. "H-how?" the black haired man choked out.

Smile only darkening, the Slav put his hands on the table and leaned forward so that he and the much smaller man were nearly touching noses. "Because," he drawled, his accent particularly thick with pride and mockery, "I met the American standards."

As the Russian straightened up, smirking down at all of them with the utmost contempt and the most insufferable air of delight they had ever felt come from the man, the Slav turned and marched away with his head held high, oozing self-satisfaction. Everyone sat still watching as he joined America, who was bouncing up and down in her excitement to go to wherever it was they were going, beaming up at Russia before she grabbed his hand and tugging him along to follow her. And just like that, they two were gone, out the door looking dangerously like a couple.

The act was so bizarre that it had settled Britain down enough that he merely stood gawking, eyes bulged out with disbelief. A loud cackle from behind startled the table, who all turned to see Prussia laughing in near hysterics while Germany smirked nastily, both apparently having heard the exchange, before they both turned and walked away. Shame and humiliation washed over Matthew as he once again felt guilty for his part in hurting the Germans, but took bitter comfort in the fact that they were the ones laughing now, as were Amelia and Russia, apparently.

Sighing, Canada rubbing the bridge of his nose, wishing that it was time to go home. He didn't bother to stop Britain as he finally broke free from France and Hungary's grips and tore off after the girl he had raised, yelling and screaming as he did so. For whatever reason, whether out of curiosity to actually find out more about the apparent relationship of the two great world powers or whether out of some strange feeling of responsibility over the Brit, France went after the Englishman, though at a much slower pace.

Shaking his head sadly, Matthew slumped down in his chair, groaning as he knew his life was going to become much more complicated now, thanks to those stupid American standards.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>All done! Thanks everyone for being fantastic readers and reviewers! I really appreciated all the support and information I was given. That was really sweet of you all! Hope you enjoyed all of this ridiculousness. It's been fun. :)

(…A sequel you say?.. )

Cheers!

~E.L.


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